


I Go to France

by Daisy_Rivers



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, The Scarlet Pimpernel (1982), Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Codes & Ciphers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, I changed names because I can't take "Percy" seriously, I switched characters' nationalities to fit the story, International intrigue, Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Resistance, Revolution, Slow Burn, Smuggling, Spies & Secret Agents, gun-running
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 16:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16747234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisy_Rivers/pseuds/Daisy_Rivers
Summary: This story parallels the last few chapters of "I Like You a Lot" and most of "Provoke Outrage." If you haven't read them, it's still a good story on its own. Briefly, the government has been taken over by the evil President George King, and the Movement, led by Alex Hamilton, John Laurens, Angelica Schuyler, and Gil duMotier de Lafayette, is fighting to bring King down and restore the Constitution. Martha "Patty" Manning, a courier for the Movement, was engaged to Nathan Hale, and was pregnant when he was killed. With King's forces searching for her, she was smuggled out of New York to the Lafayette family castle, Chavaniac. Shortly thereafter, Danny Phoenix, John Laurens's right-hand man, was arrested on a trumped-up murder charge. Alex and the others broke him out of prison, and he too got out of New York with Lafayette's help. Now Danny and Patty find themselves in France, all contact with their friends and family cut off. Soon, though, they meet Blake Percy, his wife Maggie, and others who are helping to support the Movement from France.





	1. Change Your Life

By the time Julien pulled the Renault into the circular driveway behind what was definitely a castle, Danny had been awake for more than thirty-six hours. He’d tried to sleep on the plane, but the combination of adrenaline and discomfort kept him awake. He’d shut off the light and closed his eyes, but his mind kept racing. Were they all safe? Had Billy gotten to see his mom yet? What about Tim? Tim had saved his life when he was twelve, when he could have ended up on the streets like so many other kids from the neighborhood. Alex said the General had a place for Tim, but he had to get safely to Headquarters, and only Alex knew where that was. He prayed as much as he ever had, to God and St. Dismas, and especially to the Archangel Gabriel. If anybody was going to advocate for him in Heaven, it would be Gabriel.

Now the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. He bent to pick up his bag, but he fumbled the handle and had to try again. Julien looked at him in the dim light of the setting sun, wondering whether Daniel would be offended if he offered to carry the bag. The boy seemed to have hold of it now, so he stayed silent. He wasn’t sure yet what to make of this second young fugitive that Gilbert had sent him. Martine had turned out to be a delight, a sweet, loving girl who had become friends with Sophie, and who liked to help Josette with the baking. She had been so frightened and sad when she arrived, poor thing. Gilbert had given them very little information, and had admitted that what he had told them about her might not be true. Julien understood. Gilbert was involved in the Résistance, and for some reason Martine was not safe in her own country. Once, when Martine was feeling very sad, Sophie had asked her if it was because she missed the father of her child. It was, Martine had admitted, but when Sophie had suggested that perhaps they could be reunited after the war in her country was over, Martine had begun crying again and had said simply, “He died.”

What a tragedy that was for someone so young. They never asked her for details, and, indeed, it was safer for her to tell them nothing. Sophie went to the doctor appointments with Martine, at first to translate, then, even after Martine’s French became more fluent, to keep her company. Now the baby was due almost any day. He hoped the arrival of this new young man would not be upsetting to her. Gilbert had said that they knew one another, but that was all. They had simply told Martine that someone else was coming, but they hadn’t learned his name until they picked him up at the airport. Gilbert had insisted on the utmost secrecy.

Julien opened the door now to see Martine and Sophie standing in the broad stone-flagged hall waiting. Martine’s brown eyes grew wide as they entered, and Daniel dropped his bag and held out his arms to her. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him awkwardly because of her advanced pregnancy, both of them crying and laughing.

“Hey,” Daniel said, wiping her tears with his fingers and stepping back, “look at you.”

She had kept her hair short and blond, but it was professionally cut and colored now, and it suited her. She smiled through the tears. “Yeah, look at me, big as a house.”

“Still beautiful, though.” He was too tired to be careful. He held out his hand, hovering over her belly. “May I?”

“Sure,” she told him, still smiling, and she took his hand, placing it gently on her abdomen.

He stood perfectly still, and after a moment, his face lit up. “I felt him move! Or her, sorry.”

“Him.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, keeping his hand where it was. “Soccer player?”

“Feels like it sometimes.”

“How much longer?”

“Maybe a week.”

“Oh, wow. I’m glad I made it in time.”

“Me too. It’s good to see you.” She hesitated, not sure what she was allowed to ask. “How is everybody?”

“Good, good. They send their love.” He had permission to tell her about Betsy, but not now. “I have messages for you. Nobody was allowed to sign their names, but you’ll probably be able to figure them out. Maybe tomorrow, though?”

She put her hand on his cheek. “You’re exhausted.”

“Yeah.”

Julien picked up the bag. “I’ll take this up for you,” he said, “and show you your room. And this is Sophie, my fiancée.”

“I’m sorry,” Daniel apologized. “I didn’t even say hello.”

Sophie smiled. “It’s okay. Jet lag is the worst.”

His room was huge, but it seemed all the rooms in the castle were. There was a big TV on a console table next to the wall, and a new laptop on the desk. A door on the left led to an ensuite bathroom. He looked around, overwhelmed.

Julien smiled diffidently. “Gilbert likes us all to be comfortable,” he said.

Daniel nodded, and Julien left him alone in his new room. He went into the bathroom and showered off twenty-four hours of travel grime, used the thick white towels from the heated towel rack. On the sink vanity, there was a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, along with an unopened tube of toothpaste. Gil had thought of everything. Of course he had.

He stared into the mirror, reminding himself that Gil would think it was hilarious that he was crying over a toothbrush. He needed sleep. Tomorrow it would be easier to remember that he was Daniel – pronounced like Danielle – and that Patty was Martine. Tomorrow it would be easier to understand that his life was now radically different from what it had been for the last sixteen years. Tomorrow, to begin with, he would be twenty-one.

*          *          *          *          *

Julien told him repeatedly to treat the house – the castle – as his home, and within a few days, wandering through unused rooms, he had found a gilt frame of the right size. He made the acquaintance of Pascal, who, with a couple of assistants, looked after the castle and its grounds, and borrowed a hammer. By afternoon, the angel picture was hanging in his room, positioned so he would see it when he woke up every morning. He stood back and looked at it. “Thanks for everything so far, Gabriel,” he said. “Stay with me, though, because I’m going to need so much help.”

He went to get Martine to show her the picture, and her eyes filled with tears. “It was Alex and John’s.”

“Yeah. John gave it to me.”

She put her hand to her face. “I miss them all so much.” It had been a lot for her to take in, what he had told her, even the barest facts that Alex had said he could share: Mark’s treachery, Betsy’s death, and all the tangled mess that had come out of that. She was comforted, though, by knowing that her mother was safe, that Ben was working with the General, and that the Movement continued. There was hope. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said now. “Don’t get me wrong, Julien and Sophie are wonderful, everybody’s been great, but I’ve had to keep so much to myself. Gil gave them only a little information. They don’t even know my real name.”

He smiled. “Martine is a pretty name.”

“Martine Danielle Laurence Manet,” she reminded him. “Your name and John’s.”

“Daniel Jean Gilbert Félice,” he told her, pronouncing the names in French as Gil had taught him.

“Really? Not _Phénix?_ ”

“No, Gil said it was too easy to remember. _Félice_ means happy, though, so I’ll take it – and I’ve got John’s name too, and Gil’s.”

“Maybe it’s silly,” she said, “but it’s helped, having your name and John’s. It helped me feel connected to what my life used to be.”

“Does the baby have a name yet?”

Her smile faded, and she looked away. “Not quite. I’d love to name him Nathan, but Alex warned me not to reveal anything I didn’t have to, so maybe for a middle name. Nat’s father’s name was Richard, so I thought of that, or maybe Benjamin. That sounds good in French, and thinking of Ben makes me think of Nat, so … I guess I’ll have to make up my mind soon.”

“Sophie said you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Maybe my last one before he’s born.” Her eyes filled again. “I’m scared, Danny.”

He put his arms around her. “It’ll be fine. They’ll take good care of you, and then when you bring him home, we’ll all help.”

She pulled away and looked up at him. “Do you know anything about taking care of babies?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner.” He smiled, a little embarrassed. “I’ve been looking things up.”

“Really? You want to do that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She leaned her head on his chest. “That makes me feel better.”

*          *          *          *          *

Sophie suggested that Daniel come with them for Martine’s appointment. “We’ll have lunch afterward and you can see a little of the town, maybe do some shopping?”

“Practice my French?” he asked.

She smiled. After all, how much French could he have learned in a few days? _“Si tu veux.”_

The maternity clinic was about half an hour away. Sophie drove them through miles – kilometers, he corrected himself – of green fields and villages of stone houses with red-tile roofs. It was as different from New York as Mars might have been. He stared out the car window at the clusters of trees on the hillsides that followed one another into the pale blue distance.

“What do you think?” Sophie asked.

“It’s so … peaceful.” That wasn’t the word he wanted, but it would have to do for now. “I’ve never lived anywhere but New York.”

“It is very different,” Sophie agreed. “I have visited New York, and it’s a wonderful city, but very … busy.”

He wondered what it would be like to live here, and then remembered with a jolt that he did, now. He lived in a world where his own room was twice the size of the apartment that he had shared with his mother, where people lived in houses that had been old when Columbus sailed, where green fields and blue hills went on and on past the horizon. He thought of a baby being born into this, a little boy growing up playing in the courtyard of a castle, making friends with Pascal, because of course he would. He was Nat Hale’s son, so he would charm everybody he met. Pascal would let him dig in the garden, and Pascal’s wife Josette would make him cookies in the castle’s vast and cavernous kitchen.

Gil had been lonely here, though, so lonely as a child that he was determined to have half a dozen children of his own so they would never lack playmates. Well, but Gil had grown up in the care of his aunt and uncle, who were loving but older, with no children of their own. Daniel would be happy to get down on the floor and play with a little boy, build block towers, and give piggy-back rides. He didn’t like to think of a little boy growing up lonely in the castle.

The receptionist smiled at Martine when they entered the doctor’s office, and gave Daniel a friendly inquiring look. _“Ah, c’est le papa?”_ she asked.

Sophie made an instantaneous decision. She smiled back. _“Oui, il vient d’arriver.”_

Neither Martine nor Daniel showed any sign of surprise. They both understood the importance of keeping their expressions unreadable. They sat down at a distance from the receptionist’s desk, and Sophie said quietly in English, “I hope that was okay. It would explain things so simply, not just here, but to other people you come in contact with. We had said that Martine’s boyfriend had broken up with her, but perhaps now you have reconciled … then there is nothing to explain about Daniel’s arrival.”

“No, it’s fine,” Martine said. “It’s a good idea, actually. We should have thought of it.”

“It was smart,” Daniel agreed.

So then, when the assistant called Martine back to the examining room, it was clear that Daniel was expected to go too. New normal, he reminded himself, and turned to look at the wall while Martine exchanged her clothes for a shapeless examining gown.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“Why not? If I’m the dad, I’m not going to be a jerk. What would the doctor think?”

That made her giggle, just as Dr. Cloutier came in. She was a tall woman with gray-blond hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Martine introduced her “boyfriend,” and after a few routine questions, Dr. Cloutier began the exam, poking and prodding in ways that Daniel was sure must be very uncomfortable.

 _“_ _Vous avez eu des contractions?”_ the doctor asked.

 _“_ _Quelques-unes, de temps en temps, mais rien qui dure,”_ Martine answered.

 _“_ _Aucune autre douleur?”_

 _“_ _Mal au dos.”_

 _“Ça ne m’étonne pas.”_ Dr. Cloutier smiled.

Daniel paid attention. There were plenty of language-learning sites, and he was blessed with an excellent memory. Last night he had done a lesson about vocabulary that might be needed for a doctor visit, so he made out most of what they were saying. _Contractions_ was easy, of course, and _douleur_ was _pain._ Her back was hurting. She hadn’t said anything about it, but it should have been evident. What was it his aunt had said right before his cousin was born? Oh, yeah, _Try duct-taping a bowling ball to your stomach and wearing it twenty-four-seven for nine months_. Of course her back hurt. Maybe he could help later. He didn’t want to embarrass her or invade her privacy, but if he could, he’d like to make things easier for her. She’d already had to bear too many hard things.

*          *          *          *          *

Gil had arranged with Julien for both Martine and Daniel to get a monthly allowance. It was a ridiculous amount of money, Daniel thought, since he was already provided with food and lodging. He had no idea what he might spend it on, but Gil apparently had more money than he knew what to do with, and it was so carefully invested that it grew faster than he could give it away.

Martine had bought what she needed for the baby, but she had also saved quite a lot. “Maybe he’ll want to go to college in New York,” she said with a smile.

“Or New Haven,” Daniel suggested.

“That would be nice. He can’t be another Hale from Yale, though.”

Daniel frowned. “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be safe to use Nat’s name, at least not now. Maybe sometime in the future, but not now.”

“So Baby Manet, then?”

She tilted her head seriously. “I was thinking … if you’re saying you’re the dad, you know, Baby Félice?”

“Really?”

“If you don’t mind,” she added hastily.

“Of course I don’t mind.” He put his hand on hers. “I’m honored. Anyway, it makes more sense to be consistent in the backstory.”

She smiled. “That’s what Alex would say.” She shifted her position in the chair and winced.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just a cramp. It happens pretty often.”

“You sure?”

“No. Check the time, and we’ll see what happens.”

 _Oh, shit._ But he got out his phone and made a note of the time, and tried to talk about anything else he could think of. After ten minutes, there was another cramp. “So … do we need to do anything?”

“Not yet. I’m supposed to go to the hospital when the contractions are five minutes apart for an hour.”

“Okay. Do you know how long that might be from now?”

She made a very serious face and looked down her nose at him. “It varies greatly from one pregnancy to another and there is no way to predict the timing,” she told him in her best doctor voice.

“Great. Well, can I do anything other than be the official timekeeper?”

“I’m supposed to stay hydrated and comfortable,” she said, “although I think comfortable stopped being an option a few months ago.”

He stood up. “What do you want to drink?”

“Orange juice, for now. Would you mind going down to the kitchen to get it? I’m going to take a shower.” She rolled her eyes skeptically. “That’s another thing they suggest. It’s supposed to help me relax.”

“I’ll go get the orange juice,” Daniel told her, “but don’t get in the shower until I get back. You know, in case you need anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Me too, but humor me, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll sit here and watch the clock.”

He was back with the orange juice in record time, considering the distance from the upstairs sitting room to the kitchen, and found her standing, bent over, holding onto the chair.

“Hey, are you all right?”

“Yeah, just trying to stretch my back.”

He put the juice down and stood behind her. “Lean forward,” he told her.

She did, and he began to rub her lower back, pressing the palms of his hands along the tight muscles. She seemed so small to him.

“Thank you,” she sighed. “That feels good.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Nineteen,” she replied with a giggle. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t remember. You’re the same age as Eliza, right?”

“A few months younger, but yeah. How old are you?”

“Weren’t you at my last birthday party?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, I was. I can’t remember what birthday it was, though.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was joking. “My ID says I’m twenty-one,” he told her.

There was a tiny pause, and then she said, “That sounds right.”

He felt her tense under his hands as another contraction started, and he kept rubbing her back through it. She stood up when it was over. “Still ten minutes?” she asked him.

“Yeah.”

“If I hurry, I can get a shower before the next one. If I need you, I’ll yell, I promise.”

“Okay, I’ll be right here.”

She left the door to the bathroom open a couple of inches so he could hear her if she called, but she didn’t, and in about twenty minutes, she returned, wearing her loose, stretchy pants and shirt, her short hair damp.

“Any more contractions?” he asked.

“Two more. They’re not bad, but they seem to be pretty regular.”

“Should I call anybody?”

Her eyes filled, then overflowed, and he jumped up, surprised and anxious. He put his arms around her, and she leaned forward, crying on his shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” she said, trying to stop. She reached for the box of tissues on the table.

He held onto her hand and led her to the couch. “Sit down and talk to me,” he said gently.

She sat next to him, and wiped her eyes and nose. “It’s not … I’m okay.”

“Patty …”

She gave him a faint smile. “You’re not supposed to call me that.”

“Martine, then, tell me. It’s me, you know. You can tell me anything.”

She nodded. “I know. It’s not that. It’s just … I try not to think about how it might have been different, and when you asked if you could call anybody, I realized that the people I really want to talk to now are people that you can’t call.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have thought. I’m an idiot.”

“No, no … ow! Dammit.” Her face changed as another contraction began. She breathed through it, then took another deep breath when it ended. “You know this will go on for hours, right?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have any other plans. How about if I call Sophie, though?”

“Actually, that might be a problem. She told me last night to be sure not to have the baby today. It was a joke at the time, but now it’s not so funny.”

“Why?”

“In the summer, she works as a guide and translator for exchange student groups. Today, she’s got a group of English kids in Avignon.”

“Where’s that?”

“About three hours away. They left early this morning.”

“But you’re not going to have the baby in three hours, so …”

“No, but they went on a bus, and anyway, she can’t just abandon fifty kids.”

“Oh, shit.”

“She’ll be back around ten tonight, so maybe she’ll be in time.” She didn’t sound too optimistic.

“What’s the backup plan?”

She turned away a little. “I’ll get Pascal to drive me to the hospital, and I’ll be fine on my own.” He started to talk, and she waved her hand at him. “No, listen. Julien and Sophie have been wonderful to me. Look at the way I’m living here. I’ve never had this much money in my life, and I never would have, if it hadn’t been for Gil. I’m grateful, really, really grateful, and I know my son will have everything he needs.” She paused a minute to fight back more tears. “But it’s not – Julien and Sophie have their own lives, the lives they were living before I turned up with practically no warning. If I were in New York, even if I were without Nat, my mom and Angelica would have their calendars cleared for this week just in case. Here, I have a few friends, but just casual friends. There’s nobody I can call and ask to hold my hand while I have a baby, but it’s okay. I kind of figured that’s the way it would be.”

“How about me?” _It should be obvious,_ he thought.

“Please don’t feel that you have to offer,” she told him. “I mean, I knew you would, but it’s not … I don’t think it would be … it’s not pretty, you know, not like on TV. There’s blood and there’s probably going to be screaming. We watched medical films in prenatal classes.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to feel you have to, out of, I don’t know, politeness or something.”

He reached for her hand again. “If I say something, I mean it,” he said. “I won’t lie to you.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“You think I’m too young?” he asked her directly.

It took her a few seconds to respond. “Maybe.”

He put his hand on her cheek. “Remember that night in the church? And there were other times, after you left. I’ve seen a lot of things that aren’t pretty. Giving birth is an experience I can’t possibly understand, and maybe you don’t want me with you because we’re friends, but we don’t have a close enough relationship that you’d be comfortable, and I completely get that. But if you need somebody to hang onto when it gets tough, and you think I might faint or something – well, you don’t have to worry about that.” Another contraction interrupted them, and when it was over, he looked at his phone. “And that was only eight minutes since the last one.”

“Okay, then. I’m going to find the prenatal class website, and give you a crash course in what to expect.”

*          *          *          *          *

Pascal had cheerfully driven them to the hospital in mid-afternoon, when the contractions were five minutes apart. The helpful staff had checked Martine in, and no one questioned that Daniel was her boyfriend.

It was not, as Martine had predicted, pretty. There was blood and a certain amount of screaming, and after it had gone on for hours, there was exhaustion.

“I can’t,” she wept.

“You can,” he told her. “You’re about to give birth to a warrior, just like his parents.”

And she did, and then there was a baby in her arms.

 _“Il est blond, comme vous, Madame,”_ the nurse said, smiling at the fluff of pale hair on the baby’s head.

 _Not like me,_ she thought, and turned to Daniel. “Would you like to hold him?”

He took him in his arms, and it didn’t feel strange at all. The baby stared up at him with bright blue eyes.

Another nurse came in and said, _“Il ressemble à sa maman.”_

 _“Non,”_ Daniel said, hoping his French would make sense, _“à son papa.”_

The nurses laughed, thinking it was a joke, but that was all right, because the two of them knew it was true.

 _“Vous avez choisi un prénom?”_ asked a nurse.

Martine didn’t answer right away. She turned to Daniel. “What do you think of the name Gabriel?” she asked, pronouncing it in French.

His throat got tight, and he shifted the baby to hold him with one hand, while he reached for her hand with the other. “Like the angel?”

“Like the angel.”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

She turned back to the nurse. “Gabriel Nathan. Gabriel Nathan Félice.”

 _“C’est très joli comme nom,”_ the nurse smiled.

Daniel looked down into the blue eyes. “Hello, Gabriel.”

*          *          *          *          *

Sophie and Julien arrived in the morning, bringing flowers and a beautiful going-home outfit for Gabriel. Sophie was full of apologies for not being there, but it was fine. “Don’t even think about it,” Martine told her. “It worked out well.”

Daniel had already changed a diaper, and had watched as the newborn-care specialist showed Martine how to nurse the baby. He might not understand the French, but he paid attention as she adjusted the baby’s position, so that he would be able to help at home.

Within a week, he had fallen in love with the tiny blue-eyed boy who was going to look exactly like Nat Hale. The newborn nurse, believing he was the father, had suggested that Martine pump enough breast milk for the night feeding so that he could take care of that while she slept. “It’s very good for both of you,” she explained. “That way, you get to spend some one-on-one time with your son, and your girlfriend gets the rest she needs. Taking care of a baby is hard work.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Daniel said when they were alone in the room, and she didn’t argue much because she was beginning to understand that he meant what he said.

Their bedrooms were across the hall from each other, so they kept the doors open at night, and Daniel always heard the baby when he cried. He’d bring him quietly into his room, change him, and give him a bottle, talking to him about New York, about his father, and his father’s best friend Ben, about his grandmother Elizabeth, and his Uncle Billy. “When you’re a little bigger, we’ll take you to New York. Everybody will be so happy to see you.”

Gabriel listened with what Daniel would swear later was real interest. Within a few weeks, he would smile when Daniel started talking to him.

There was no word from New York, ever. Sometimes he wondered if maybe Alex could have gotten a message to them, but didn’t try because of the risk. Sometimes, in dark moments, he wondered if they were all still alive. King’s government had shut the country down so tightly that there was very little news getting out of it. “You know who would like you?” he asked Gabriel late one night. “Your Uncle Tim, and Uncle Herc, John Laurens and Alex Hamilton – oh, and the Schuyler sisters. You’d like them, too. I want you to meet them someday.” Gabriel smiled and waved his arms in agreement.

 


	2. I Swear That I’ll Be Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny must make plans and decisions on his own, without advice from Alex or Tim. Julien introduces some possible friends. Danny doesn't want to endanger his friendship with Patty. Patty doesn't want Danny to miss out on college and normal life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen the 1982 film of "The Scarlet Pimpernel" starring Anthony Andrews and Jane Seymour, it is definitely worth your time. Suspense, intrigue, love, and great costumes.  
> To clarify the Scarlet Pimpernel connections here, Roland Fleury is my stand-in for Sir Andrew ffoulkes (and no, that first f is not supposed to capitalized, it's an old British upper-class weird spelling thing). He started out being André, of course, but that left me with Armand and Anthony & three guys with names starting with A was too confusing. Lord Tony Dewhurst has to be Antoine here, and I can't shorten it to Tony, because there's already a Tony (AKA Mad Anthony Wayne) who may well show up at some point ... anyway, Anthony Dewhurst becomes Antoine Dupré, an old friend of Gil's who has barely made an appearance, but you'll see more of him, and Armand is Aiden just because I like that name better. That's probably way more explanation than you wanted.

Daniel had a plan, always, and early in July, he asked Martine, “Can you swim?”

“Can I swim? No, I’m from New York, remember?”

Daniel grinned at her. “Me too. Never learned, but there’s a pool here.”

The pool on the castle grounds was large and, of course, meticulously maintained. It was set in a broad grassy area and bordered with a flagstone patio. Julien and Sophie swam almost every day.

“Can’t we just splash around at the shallow end?” she asked.

“You know Gabri’s going to want to play in the pool, right?”

She looked up at him, her face serious. “Are you thinking we won’t ever go back to New York?”

He took her hand. “I don’t know. There’s no way to predict the future, but if Gabri grows up here, he’ll swim in that pool, so we’d better be a little bit ahead of him.”

“I hadn’t even thought about it,” she said.

He shrugged. “I just … I try to look ahead, see what the possibilities are.”

“Like Alex Hamilton?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Well, like Alex, you’re usually right. Now how are we going to do this?”

It turned out to be simple. When he asked Julien about it, he found there was a sports center in a nearby town with an Olympic-size pool and a range of swimming classes. Both Sophie and Josette were more than willing to babysit so they could take a class together. It was fun and relaxing, and they enjoyed competing with one another in their class of adult non-swimmers. The evening after the second class, when they were alone in the sitting room, Martine asked quietly, “How did you get that scar on your shoulder?”

Daniel looked away for a minute, remembering. It had been one of the worst moments of his time in the Movement. She had a right to know, though, and he owed her the truth.

“C’mere,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her down to sit next to him on the couch. “It was the night Betsy’s was bombed, and we were trying to get Deb out of the rubble.”

She had heard the bare facts before, but he had never talked about what it had been like. Alex had told him not to reveal anything he didn’t have to. Martine had no need to know. He understood why Alex had said that, understood the importance of need to know in the Movement, but he also understood that keeping things from her made her feel more cut off than ever. Months had passed since he arrived, months of following Alex’s instructions.

“I want to know,” Martine said, her eyes on his.

Maybe it was time to use his own judgment. He took a breath. “The bomb had been placed under the counter, so when it went off, it blew up the counter, the kitchen wall, and part of the ceiling. It would have been a lot worse, but the marble counter top kept the full force from going up.” He shook his head. “The bomber didn’t know a lot about physics, thank God. Anyway, Deb and Betsy were both at the counter when it happened, and most of the wall landed on them. You know Betsy was killed, but we didn’t know it at the time, and Deb was conscious and talking to us, so we were digging her out. Jacob – he used to be a fireman – was directing us. He knew what to do. Johan and I were part way in, bracing a tunnel, and then when we moved the wrong piece, something fell on my shoulder and cut it. It was probably a piece of heating duct; there was a lot of that, and some of the metal was sheared off and really sharp.”

“It was a bad cut, wasn’t it?”

He shrugged. “Kind of. They made me stop digging. Eliza patched me up with first aid supplies from the laundromat down the street.”

“Not Gil?”

“Gil looked at it later, but right then he had his hands full trying to keep Deb alive. He just said that I couldn’t use my arm, and I couldn’t continue with the digging. They sent John in to take my place.”

“You hated that, didn’t you?”

She understood the special bond he had with John. He was surprised at how emotional it was to remember it all. His eyes filled. “Yeah. Then right after they pulled Deb out, that marble slab fell on John and broke his leg. He was screaming.”

She put her hand on his cheek, brushed off a tear. “But he’s okay now.”

He nodded, and put his arm around her. “He’s okay now, as far as I know.” He pulled her tighter to him. “I miss them all, you know, but I really miss John. He’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a brother.”

“I know. I’m sorry I made you think about it.”

“No, don’t be, it’s okay. I want to remember what the Movement is all about, and even though I miss everyone there, at least I’m not alone here. I’ve got you and Gabriel. You’ll always understand if I need to talk about New York and the Movement.”

Her head was tucked under his collarbone and she could feel his heartbeat. She stayed there, comforted by it. “We were in it together there,” she said. “We’re still part of it.”

They sat like that for a while, quiet and comfortable together, until Gabriel demanded to be fed. When she got up, he watched her walk away, knowing he’d do anything to keep her safe.

*          *          *          *          *

When they finished the swimming course, Daniel started swimming laps daily until it got too cold. In September, he began running instead, marking out a route within the castle grounds, doing a couple of miles every morning, trying to keep his mind clear, trying to look at all the possibilities ahead that he should be prepared for.

By October, Gabriel was sleeping through the night, and Daniel’s French was fluent. Julien and Sophie expressed surprise at how quickly he had learned, but Martine remembered Tim and Alex talking about how he had swept through all of their books in less than a year. “I need something to do,” he told Julien.

Julien looked at him warily. “You mean a job?”

“Maybe. Or school of some sort. It’s beautiful here, and everything’s easy, but I can’t … I can’t just wait for the future to happen.”

“Ah.” Julien understood at least part of what he meant. He might not be able to get in touch with Gilbert, but there were others here in France. “Let me see what I can do,” he said to Daniel.

A few weeks later, Julien said casually, “I’ve invited a young couple over to dinner. I don’t actually know them, but they’re friends of friends. I thought you and Martine might enjoy their company.”

The young couple were Roland Fleury and Suzanne Tournay, who explained that they lived in the area and were happy to meet new people. Josette prepared a very nice meal, and as soon as they were done, Julien and Sophie excused themselves because they had concert tickets. That was way too obvious, Daniel thought, as if they couldn’t have scheduled the dinner on another night. Julien was a great guy, but he was no Alex Hamilton.

The evening was chilly, too cold to sit on the terrace, so they went into the room Julien called the library and Daniel built a fire in the stone fireplace.

“How long have you lived here?” Roland asked.

“I’ve been here about a year,” Martine responded. “Daniel came a little later.”

“Your son is adorable,” Suzanne said with a smile.

Gabriel had amused them through dinner by babbling and laughing and messily eating a spoonful of the _crème caramel_. He was asleep now in the small crib they kept downstairs, a blue blanket over him and his favorite plush puppy clutched tight in his arms.

Daniel looked across the room at him fondly and said, “I can’t disagree.”

“The castle is pretty spectacular,” Roland observed. “Has it been in your family for a long time?”

Without Alex around, Daniel had had to work out his own backstory. “That’s what they tell us. It actually belongs to a distant cousin that I didn’t know I had until I met him in college in New York. It was crazy, right?” he asked Martine.

“It was,” she agreed. They’d rehearsed until they both knew the story by heart. “Daniel had a class with Gilbert, who was studying in New York for a year, and they were talking about France. Daniel told him that his grandparents were from France, but he didn’t know much about them except that they were from Auvergne.”

“Which I had no idea how to spell,” Daniel put in, laughing.

“Anyway, it turned out that Gilbert was from Auvergne too, and they both got interested and started looking up their genealogy online, and it turns out they’re cousins.”

“Really?” Suzanne exclaimed. “That’s crazy.”

“I know, right?” Daniel agreed. “Not first cousins, of course, I think it’s eighth cousins once-removed, but we’re related. And then we got to be friends, too.”

It wasn’t hard to talk about being friends with Gil. There were lots of real memories, although he omitted the stories of shooting from rooftops.

Roland sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “And then, when the political situation got bad in your country, you came here?”

This was where the lies got more complicated and telling the story got tricky. “You know that our President has divided people into economic classifications, don’t you?”

Suzanne nodded. “Yes, it’s terrible.”

“It is,” Martine declared, “but unfortunately there are those who think he’s right. My parents, for example.” For practice, Daniel had told her what he knew of John’s father. _Pretend your father is Henry Laurens. Pretend that he hates you for loving who you love._

At this point, Daniel broke in apologetically. “My family was placed in the lowest economic group. I wasn’t considered good enough.”

Suzanne and Roland were appalled, but not surprised. This story clearly fit with the news that made its way across the ocean.

“When we found out Martine was pregnant,” Daniel went on, “we were really worried. Her parents would have been legally able to separate us, even to take our baby away.” He glanced over at Gabriel asleep in his crib, because even though the story was complete fiction, imagining anyone taking him was terrifying. “I talked to Gilbert about it, and he came up with a plan, and _voilà_ , here we are!”

“And your families?” Suzanne asked.

“My mother knows I’m safe,” Daniel said, “but she doesn’t know where I am.”

Martine’s face was serious. “My parents know nothing. I just disappeared one day. I’m sure you can understand that we have to be discreet. We live very quietly and don’t go out much.”

Daniel got up and put another log on the fire. “We’re hoping that things will change in our country so that we can go back. I wish there were something we could do from here, but we’re so far away.” That was the bait. If, as Julien suspected, Roland and Suzanne were aware of people in France who wanted to assist the Movement – or as they called it here, the Résistance – then he had given them an opening.

“Do you really think someone might be looking for you?” Suzanne asked, her face troubled.

“Oh, yes,” Martine told her. “My parents have quite a lot of money, and they could easily use it to hunt for me. We had a big argument one night, right before I left. My father said he’d rather see me dead than having the baby of a dirty Deplo.”

There were real tears in her eyes because she hated saying something like that about Daniel, even if they both knew she was acting.

Suzanne was rightly horrified. _“C’est affreux!”_ she exclaimed. “I understand why you want to stay here in the country rather than in a big city. It’s much safer.”

Daniel nodded. “Yes, and we’re not alone the way we would be in Paris or Lyon. Julien and Sophie are here, as well as the staff. The castle is big enough that we all have privacy, but no one could get in unauthorized.”

Martine smiled, “Although Gilbert always said it was a small castle.”

“He was probably comparing it to the famous castles on the Loire,” Suzanne said. “They have hundreds of rooms, but also lots of tourists, so you’re probably better off here.”

“I’m sure we are,” Daniel agreed.

Roland had been silent for a while, staring thoughtfully into the fire. He looked up now and asked, “Do you plan to return to New York when the government is stabilized?”

Daniel shrugged. “Is it _when_ or _if_? I don’t know. Certainly there are reasons I would like to return, but not until I am sure my son would be safe.”

Suzanne looked at Gabriel in his crib, and then at Martine. “Your parents could really take him away from you?”

Martine nodded. “I’m still under twenty-one, so they could legally take custody of him and then, if they liked, place him for adoption. Daniel’s twenty-one, but since we’re not married, he’d have no rights as Gabriel’s father. The catch there is that we couldn’t get married because of our different classifications.” While the facts didn’t apply to her and Daniel, it was an accurate description of the laws. Her heart ached for all the young parents who were actually in that situation.

“We’ll stay here at least until Martine is twenty-one,” Daniel added.

Roland frowned. “But you haven’t gotten married? Forgive me, it’s none of my business, but it seems it would be an additional safeguard.”

“Not at all,” Daniel responded. He was pleased that Roland was asking questions that indicated he was checking out their authenticity. It was exactly what Alex would be doing if he were sizing up someone who expressed an interest in the Movement. “We haven’t gotten married yet because there are some … um … irregularities in our visa paperwork. I’m sure you understand.” It was the story he had come up with once it became accepted that he was Gabriel’s father. Roland was right. If they wanted to be sure Daniel had equal custody rights with Martine, being married would be the logical step. If they chose not to get married, there had to be a reason for it. He hoped this explanation was enough, but if Roland ever asked for specifics on the irregularities, there weren’t any. John’s forgeries were perfect.

“Ah, I understand,” Roland said. “I’m not very familiar with the laws of your country, but you mean because Martine was not yet twenty-one when she left?”

“Exactly.” It was as good an explanation as anything else.

Suzanne looked like she was about to cry. “Those laws are terrible. They’re cruel.”

“Yes, they are,” Daniel agreed. “You see why we hope that things will change in our country. I wish there was something we could do.” Another line thrown out. It was hard to guess what Julien knew about Roland and Suzanne, why he had brought them in, but Daniel hoped that he had made it clear that he was interested in working for the Movement on this side of the ocean. Now there was nothing to do but wait for someone to get back to him.

After the guests left, Martine locked the door behind them, and Daniel banked the fire. Then he picked up Gabriel from his crib, wrapping his blanket around him and making sure Puppy wasn’t left behind.

“I can carry him,” Martine said.

“Nah, let me. I like to.”

She smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder briefly. “I know. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he told her as they started up the wide stone steps.

“Okay, but I still want you to know that I’m grateful. I don’t think I could do it without you.”

He smiled against the baby’s soft hair. “I don’t think there’s anything in the world you couldn’t do, but if my help makes things a little easier for you, I’m glad. Besides,” he added softly, “I love him.”

They were in the upstairs hall now, at the opposite end of the castle from Julien’s room. They had their own section, two bedrooms, two baths, and a sitting room. There were a couple more empty bedrooms as well, so that when Gabriel was older he could have his own room, and maybe a playroom. Usually Daniel tried to stay positive, but tonight, his mind was on the Movement and he was frustrated with the lack of communication. Maybe Roland and Suzanne would put him in touch with someone who would know how things were in New York. He wondered how old Gabriel would be before Fran Manning and Elizabeth Hale got to see him. He laid the baby gently in his crib and tucked Puppy close to him. Gabriel gave a little sigh and shifted position, then settled back to sleep. Daniel stroked his cheek softly just to touch him.

“G’night, Gabri,” he said. He turned around, and Martine was there, of course, watching him and the baby.

He reached out both his hands and took hers. “Patty, suppose everything works out back home in a few years – the Movement succeeds, free elections are held, somebody like General Akhdir is elected President, and it’s safe to go home. We go back, and I go to Columbia and you open a chain of coffee shops, and we have normal lives again. It’ll still be okay for me to spend time with him, won’t it?”

She looked up at him, thinking for a moment of how much taller he was than when she’d first met him. She had just turned twenty, and he would be seventeen in a month – or twenty-two if you believed his passport. What was it John had said, that Danny was fifteen going on thirty? He’d certainly seemed capable of shouldering all the adult responsibilities that had been handed to him so far, not least of which was helping to raise her son. She let go of his hand to put hers on his cheek in much the same way that he had just touched Gabriel’s. “Danny, you’re legally his father, because your name is on his birth certificate, but more important, you’ve been there for him literally since he was born. I can’t imagine any time in the future, no matter what happens, that you wouldn’t be part of his life.”

Daniel smiled, still holding her left hand, not quite trusting himself to speak. She was looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, and unexpectedly, the thought came into his mind that he wanted to kiss her. He dismissed it quickly and dropped her hand, giving her the usual quick good-night hug that they shared.

_Where did that come from?_ he wondered later. That was totally unacceptable. Nat had barely been gone a year, and anyway … they were friends. Their friendship meant everything to him, but that was what it was, and what it was going to stay.

*          *          *          *          *

By mid-December, Gabriel was crawling, and they had to put up baby gates and barriers in a home that made it architecturally difficult.

“It’s not a problem,” Pascal said. “I have a stone bit on my drill, and we can put in an eye-hook.”

Daniel looked at Julien. “I don’t think we should be drilling holes in an eight-hundred-year-old castle,” he said. “How did they manage when Gilbert was a baby?”

Julien raised an eyebrow and shrugged in a way so reminiscent of Gil that Daniel’s throat tightened up. Julien was very different from Gil in general, and it was easy to forget they were cousins. “Servants,” he said now. “Maybe you should think about a nanny.”

“A _nanny?_ ” Martine repeated. “I can’t imagine …”

Julien laughed at the shocked look on her face. “Drill the hole,” he told Pascal. “The castle has withstood far worse.”

Gabriel did not approve of the gate that prevented him from scooting out of their room every time Martine turned her back. He sat on the floor glaring at it angrily for a few minutes, then began banging on it and yelling.

Daniel came across the hall and leaned against the door jamb, looking down at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he said, “but it’s for your own good.”

Gabriel beat on the gate some more and complained loudly, so Daniel bent and picked him up. _“Écoute, Gabri, tu n’as pas le droit de quitter la chambre sans permission.”_

Martine came out of the bathroom quickly, looking concerned, then smiled. “I got worried when he stopped yelling,” she said.

Gabriel saw her and gave her his best smile, showing off his two new teeth. “No,” she told him, “You can’t charm your way out of this. Those steps at the end of the hall are made of stone, and we don’t want you falling down them.”

Gabriel turned to Daniel and said something to him. Daniel always acted as if he were actually communicating. “I know,” he said, “but Maman is right. We do this to keep you safe.”

Martine watched as the two of them continued their back-and-forth pretend conversation, Gabriel babbling and waving his hands and Daniel responding with serious answers. He was giving the baby his complete attention, treating him like a real person, and for just a moment, she thought, _I love them both so much._

_Of course I do,_ she told herself hastily, _Danny’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Of course I love him._ She repeated to herself a few more times how much she valued him as a friend.

*          *          *          *          *

Christmas at the castle meant that certain traditions were followed. An elaborate Nativity scene was displayed in the front hall, and a Christmas tree was set up in the formal drawing room that no one ever used. The grounds were decorated with lights and huge wreaths were hung in the windows.

Gabriel, not quite seven months old, was fascinated by the lights and the ornaments, and quite unhappy that he wasn’t allowed to explore the tree. To compensate, Daniel and Martine set up a small tree in their sitting room and decorated it with bright ribbon streamers and ornaments made of plastic or wood, attached with loops of yarn or ribbon. Gabriel learned very quickly how to remove random ornaments and chew on them, and he seemed disappointed that they didn’t taste as good as they looked. His favorite ornament was a carved white horse that they’d bought in the village. Gabriel would pull it off the tree and bang it on the floor, and Daniel insisted that he was trying to make it gallop.

“Uh-huh,” Martine responded skeptically, rolling her eyes.

“No, really, watch,” Daniel said, taking the little horse out of the baby’s hand and making it move across the floor. “Look, Gabri, the horse is galloping. _Le cheval galope_.” He handed the toy back to Gabriel, who hit it against the floor in imitation, and Daniel looked up at Martine in triumphant pride. “You see how smart he is?”

She nodded, her eyes full. She and Nat hadn’t planned on getting pregnant, but she was grateful beyond words that she had this beautiful child who looked just like his father and who might, someday, fulfill his father’s promise to make the world better.

“We open for the public to visit at Christmas,” Julien told Daniel and Martine a little apologetically. “The weekend before Christmas, and then every weekend until Epiphany. It’s only three weekends.”

“It sounds like fun, actually,” Martine said. “The decorations are beautiful.”

Julien nodded, not smiling. “There may be no reason for concern, but perhaps you two would want to stay upstairs while we have visitors. We have no way to screen people coming in.”

“Oh. Oh, of course, I wasn’t thinking.” She bit her lip. “It’s so peaceful here, and everything seems so normal that sometimes I forget.”

“And yet you are wanted by the police for sedition, and Daniel is, according to your government, an escaped murderer.”

Daniel looked at Julien thoughtfully. “We went out for the swimming lessons,” he said.

“Yes, but it is easier if you go out than if strangers come in.”

“Because if we go out, someone watches us?”

Julien shrugged. “They are very unobtrusive. You didn’t notice.”

“No, I didn’t, dammit. Gil’s idea, I suppose.”

“The letter you brought to me from him when you came had some very good advice and some very specific instructions.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Was one of them a guy in his twenties, dark, long face, long nose, hairline just starting to recede, about my height but thinner?”

Julien nodded, a bit taken aback. “Yes, that is Antoine. You did notice, then.”

Daniel laughed. “Yeah, but I thought he was checking me out. You could have told us, you know.”

“I know, but we don’t want you to feel … impeded. You should be able to have your life.”

“Does Antoine know who we are?”

“No, he just knows that you could be in danger, and he is to keep you from harm.”

“And you’re absolutely certain he’s trustworthy?”

Julien smiled. “He’s an old friend. Gilbert saved his life once when they were boys. I would trust him with anything.”

“How did Gil save his life?” Martine asked.

“They were ice-skating and Antoine went through the ice. Gilbert pulled him out and dragged him back here, both of them half-frozen. They were all right once they got warmed up. Nearly scared Tante Marie to death, though.”

“How old were they?” Daniel asked.

“Thirteen, fourteen, something like that. He never mentioned it to you?”

Daniel shook his head. “No.”

“No, he probably wouldn’t,” Julien concurred. “It’s not the sort of thing he would talk about.”

For a moment the pain of missing them all – Gil, John, and Tim especially – kept Daniel quiet, and then he asked, “Does Antoine go to church?”

“I don’t know,” Julien responded, a little surprised. “Even if he doesn’t, though, it’s a very small church in the village. I think even I know everyone by sight, and I only attend a couple of times a year. I’ll talk to Père Jean-Louis if you like, and tell him to expect you.”

“At least for Christmas,” Daniel said. “Midnight mass, right? I grew up Protestant, but I don’t think God minds which church you go to.”

“Midnight mass at Christmas, but the rest of the year, mass is on Sunday mornings.”

“Are you going to start going to church?” Martine asked.

“I think so. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Tim, and anyway, I’ve been kind of missing it.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said.

“Really?”

“Sure. I’ve only been to church a couple of times, but maybe I’ll learn something.” She turned to Julien. “Do you think it would be okay to take the baby?”

“In a small village church like St. Joseph, of course. There are not many young people who go to church anymore, so everyone will be happy to see a baby.”

A couple of hours later, when they were upstairs in their sitting room, Daniel said, “Patty, you know it’s okay if you don’t want to go to church, right?”

“Of course. I volunteered, remember?”

He gave her a sideways smile. “Yeah, but – you’re nice. You might have volunteered just to be nice.”

“What if I did?” she asked, sounding irritated. “Isn’t that enough of a reason? I mean, I hope you’re not expecting me to make some sort of religious declaration and get baptized before you decide if I actually meant what I said.”

He crossed the room to her chair and knelt down in front of her. “Patty, I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk.”

She didn’t make eye contact. “Maybe.”

He scooted around sideways to look directly at her face. “I really am sorry. I should just take you at your word.”

“Exactly. You’ve told me a hundred times that you don’t lie to me – well, I don’t lie to you either.”

“And I should know that. Forgive me?”

She finally smiled at him. “Yes, of course, but don’t doubt me again.”

“Promise.” He got up and held out his arms. “Hug?”

She stood in front of him and he put his arms around her. They hugged often, but this time he held her tighter and didn’t let go, and she sighed and leaned closer to him. He put his face in her hair, breathing in the scent. _I can’t think like this,_ he told himself, but he didn’t move.

He was warm and strong, and he made her feel safe. Her arms were around his waist and her head was pressed to his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat. _I just want to stay here,_ she thought, _just a little while longer._

They stepped back at almost exactly the same time, both of them a little uneasy. _This is a complication that won’t make anything easier,_ Daniel reflected.

_He’s seventeen,_ Martine reminded herself. _I’d only get in the way of his having a normal life._

Daniel didn’t lie to Martine, but he also didn’t lie to himself. Later, he lay awake staring up at the ornate ceiling that was only dimly illuminated by the small bedside lamp. _I’ve loved her since the day Gabriel was born. I’ve never seen that much courage in my life, not even from John. She’s brave and she’s beautiful and she’s kind, and what else is there, really? What would it be like to kiss her? She’s so small and soft, and yet she’s the strongest person I know. What if … no. All the what-if’s end in no._

Martine lay in the dark across the hall, Gabriel’s soft breathing the only sound in the room. _I’ll never stop loving Nat, but Nat can’t be here. He would understand, and he’d be glad Danny is here for us. He may only be seventeen, but he’s not a kid. Fifteen going on thirty, John said, because even then Danny was doing a man’s job. Still, he has his whole life ahead of him, college and whatever career he chooses. He doesn’t need me to get in his way. What would it be like to stay with him, though, for the three of us to be a family? I know he loves Gabriel. What if … I’ve got to stop thinking like this._

It was three o’clock in the morning when she woke up, and in the moment between dream and reality, she reached to the other side of the bed for him. It was empty, and she gave a frustrated little whimper and curled herself into a ball, hoping to get back into the dream, but try as she might, she couldn’t find it again.

*          *          *          *          *

Daniel ran early in the mornings, no matter what the weather, always within the castle grounds, resolved to be prepared physically as well as mentally if the Movement should need him. The Sunday before Christmas he came to breakfast freshly showered and asked Martine, “Do you and Gabri want to go to church this morning? Mass is at eleven.”

It was still early, since Gabriel thought six in the morning was the perfect time to wake up, so she said yes, and a little before eleven, they were introducing themselves to Père Jean-Louis at the village church. The Church of Saint Joseph was small, but even so, it was less than half full. The pale morning sun illuminated the centuries-old stained-glass window behind the altar, an image of St. Joseph with the child Jesus. Daniel stared at it for a long time, Martine watching him and wondering what he was thinking. They stumbled through the unfamiliar Catholic ceremony by following what everyone else did, and Gabriel helped out by being on his best behavior, smiling and charming everyone who could see him. After mass was concluded, several people came up to tell them what a beautiful little boy they had and how nice it was to see a baby in church. Gabriel accepted all the compliments for a while, but he was getting hungry and they had to get home. It was only when they were leaving that Daniel noticed Antoine, seated in a shadowed corner of the church. Apparently Julien had told him to be there. As they walked past the last row, he looked up and caught Daniel’s eye with a faintly ironic smile. No more pretending that they weren’t all aware of what was going on.

They returned to the castle to find a dozen cars parked in front, so Daniel steered the Renault to the back, and they entered through the kitchen door.

“Are you hungry?” Josette asked with a smile. “There is roast chicken and _haricots verts_ , and the bread is still warm. If you want to avoid the tourists, you can eat here.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Martine agreed, taking off her coat and hanging it over the back of a chair. “Gabri’s hungry, though, so I’d better feed him first.” She settled into the broad, cushioned window seat and unselfconsciously pulled up her sweater so Gabriel could nurse. Daniel got them both cups of tea and brought hers to her, then sat down at the other end of the window seat.

“How many tourists today?” he asked Josette.

She rolled her eyes. “Too many. Monsieur Thibaut has clearly indicated which areas they are permitted to visit, but they want to explore.”

Julien had blocked off the stairs and the kitchen wing with velvet rope and shiny metal posts, and there were signs throughout the downstairs “public rooms” indicating what parts of the castle were open to visitors.

“Has anybody tried to get into the kitchen yet?” Daniel asked.

“Not yet,” Josette responded, “and if they do, I will make sure they leave very quickly.” She waved a saucepan threateningly, and they laughed.

“Do you think Gabri would like some of the green beans?” Daniel asked Martine.

“He might.” She switched the baby to the other side to continue nursing.

“I’ll get them ready.” They kept a small food mill in the kitchen, and he pureed a few spoonfuls of green beans while Josette put dinner on the table. Like most French families, they had their main meal at around one o’clock on Sundays. They usually ate in the dining room, but that was one of the rooms that might be visited by tourists this weekend, so Julien and Sophie would be joining them in the kitchen. Martine had just handed Gabriel to Daniel when they came in, and Gabriel was making funny faces trying to decide if he liked green beans or not.

Julien smiled. “I’m glad you’re down here. I just had to redirect a couple of tourists who were ignoring the barricade and trying to go upstairs.”

Daniel didn’t smile back. “Really?”

Julien’s face changed. _“Ah, merde, j’ai pas réfléchi.”_

Daniel kissed the top of Gabriel’s head and handed him to Martine. “Let’s go check.”

“No!” Martine protested. “Stay here.”

He kissed her head exactly as he’d kissed the baby’s. “We’ll go up the back stairs just to take a look. It’ll be fine.”

She held Gabriel tight as they walked out of the kitchen, and turned to Sophie, who sat down next to her. “Why can’t they just stay here and leave it alone?”

Sophie shook her head. “Daniel, because he always has to know what is happening, so he can plan ahead. Julien, because he’s Gilbert’s cousin and is much more like him than even he knows.”

Martine blinked away the tears. “I couldn’t …”

Sophie put her arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Even if someone has come today to look for you, they can’t do anything because there are people everywhere. If they are here, it is just to reconnoiter, see if they find any trace of you. They won’t. There is nothing here to find.”

That was true. There was very little here of her former life, not even an article of clothing. She’d brought only a change of clothes with her, and, at Gil’s insistence, Sophie had helped her shop for a new wardrobe. Her own clothes had been donated to Emmaus. There was only one thing she’d kept, and that was well-hidden. Daniel too had discarded what he’d brought, choosing new clothes, as she had, in a different style. He had abandoned his New York teenager uniform of jeans, tee shirt, and sneakers. They both looked different, older, more sophisticated. It was unlikely that anyone studying pictures of Patty Manning and Danny Phoenix would recognize them in this attractive, well-dressed young French couple who had just returned from church.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. She sat there with Sophie, Gabriel well-fed and sleepy on her lap, waiting. Daniel and Julien were gone less than half an hour, and they returned smiling.

Martine felt as if she’d been holding her breath the whole time. Sophie got up to hug Julien, and Daniel came directly to her.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Just tourists thinking they can go wherever they want. They were from Prague.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I couldn’t swear that they were from Prague, but their French was awful, and their accent was definitely northern European.”

She didn’t ask how he could tell. It was the sort of thing that he knew. He took the baby from her arms and put him in his downstairs crib that they’d moved to the kitchen, tucked the blanket around him. For a moment he reminded her of Nat. _That’s exactly how Nat would have been with the baby,_ she thought. _He’s the same kind of father Nat would have been._

Father.

_“On déjeune?”_ Julien requested with a smile. “We’re hungry!”

*          *          *          *          *

The next day, Daniel called Roland Fleury and invited him and Suzanne to dinner.

“As a matter of fact, I was just thinking of calling you,” Roland said. “We have some friends that I think you and Martine would enjoy meeting. They’re English, but they’ve lived here for a few years. Why don’t you and Martine come here instead, and I’ll invite Blake and Maggie too.”

“That sounds good,” Daniel agreed.

“Let’s plan for the second week of January, if that suits you? Oh, and Suzanne says to please bring your adorable baby.”

“Thank you, we will.”

Julien had been right. Roland knew somebody. He had no idea what was happening in New York, but at some point they would need him, and he had to be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danny is taking things into his own hands. Let's hope he knows what he's doing.


	3. A Group of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel and Martine meet Blake and Maggie Percy. Blake and Daniel evaluate one another, then meet later to ask questions. Daniel and Martine's friendship seems to be developing into something else, but neither of them will admit it.

Daniel sat in the comfortable armchair in Roland and Suzanne’s living room, swirling his wine in his glass, looking across the room and remembering. Gil had taught him about French wine, about how the climate and the soil mattered. John had laughed at them, but as Alex had said, _nothing you learn is ever wasted_ , and now he could choose what he drank intelligently, comment on it the way people did in France. Nothing he’d learned was wasted. 

Gabriel was smiling at Suzanne. He was at his most charming, which he wouldn’t be for much longer, because it was close to his bedtime. He blew some bubbles for her and then laughed at himself. Daniel took advantage of everyone’s attention being on the baby to observe the other adults in the room. Whatever was going on here in France, it was clear that Blake Percy was in charge of it. He had the same kind of authoritative air that Alex Hamilton did. His wife Maggie was as smart as he was, but a little quieter. Maggie’s brother Aiden looked like he might be good with a gun – or with a knife, who knew? – and his girlfriend Louise was cute enough to be an excellent distraction.

_I wonder if I’ll always do this, evaluate people in terms of how useful they would be to the Movement. Maybe not always. Maybe after there are free elections, I won’t have to. That’s a long way off, though._

Suzanne was playing peekaboo with her scarf, and Gabriel was giggling every time she lowered it.

 _“Il est tout à fait adorable,”_ she said.

“And he knows it,” Martine told her. “It’s going to be very hard not to let him get away with everything he wants.”

“So which one of you is going to be the disciplinarian?” Blake asked, looking from Martine to Daniel.

Daniel laughed. “Neither of us, because he’s going to be a perfectly behaved child.”

Martine rolled her eyes, and Blake said, “That answers my question.”

An hour or so later, Gabriel was asleep in his carrier and Roland offered them more wine.

 _“Merci,”_ Daniel responded, “but I’m driving.”

“Do you like living in France?” Blake asked. “It must be quite different from New York.”

“Very different, but we’re comfortable at Chavaniac.”

“Roland tells me you are a friend of Julien’s cousin, the Marquis. And also a distant relative, is that correct?”

Daniel smiled. “Extremely distant, so I am here more as Gilbert’s friend than as his relative. Did Roland explain the conditions in New York that forced us to leave?”

“I hope that was all right,” Roland put in anxiously.

“Of course. Martine and I have nothing to be ashamed of; it’s our country’s laws that are wrong, not us.”

Blake nodded. “I wonder if everything I hear about the laws there is true.”

“What do you hear?”

“That King’s government is a plutocracy, enriching the few by subjugating the majority economically. I’ve been told that this has been accomplished very openly, that laws have been passed that literally take from the poor to give to the rich.”

Daniel nodded grimly. “Completely true.”

“But that’s insane,” Maggie said. “How did the citizens let that happen? Your country was a democracy.”

“I hate hearing you use the past tense, but it’s correct,” Daniel responded. “At the beginning, most people didn’t see it, or maybe they were in denial. The first sign was when Blodman supposedly had a stroke and King stepped into his place. Then he had the Washingtons killed.”

“The whole family,” Suzanne remembered. “We saw it on the news here. The children – it was awful.”

“Yeah.” Daniel looked at Martine. That had been before the Times Square Riot, before he’d met Alex and John and all of them. Gil told him later, though, that that had been the day he’d known for sure that he wouldn’t return to France until King was out of power. Tim had opened St. Dismas up for anyone who needed comfort as soon as he saw it on the news, and like many churches, they had held a special prayer service a few days later. “I think King succeeded at least in part because everyone was in denial. It seemed impossible that King could have engineered the murder of the former President.”

“But you believe he did?” Blake’s gray eyes were alert.

“Absolutely.”

“What about the Résistance?” Blake asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How successful do you think it’s been?”

That was tricky. He knew the Insurrection had failed, but he also knew that General Akhdir was planning for the future. Most of the Movement was undoubtedly undercover by now, working toward a future action that would restore free elections and the Constitution. Tim and Ben and Jacob were all working with the General at Headquarters, wherever that was. He hated not being part of it, but he also knew that if the next insurrection failed, it would be his responsibility to continue the Movement. He couldn’t explain that to Blake, at least not yet. He shrugged and said, “It’s had some effect, mostly by sabotage and disruption. They’ll need more time to recruit enough members as people come to realize what King has done. I think there are some very talented leaders in the Résistance.”

He expected Blake to ask about them, but he didn’t, just leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. After a few minutes, he turned back to Daniel. “There is one leader who is in charge, though, isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

Blake looked around the room. Everyone else seemed to be involved in a conversation that didn’t include them. Maggie glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Blake. It was the sort of smile Angelica might have given Alex.

They had set it up. Maggie was keeping the others distracted so that Blake could ask him questions. All right, that was a good sign. He smiled, and Blake realized he had caught on.

“Do you know who it is?” Blake asked, not quite smiling.

“Who what is?” Daniel queried innocently.

“Who is leading the Résistance.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Not yet.”

Blake’s half smile became a grin. “If you’d answered any other way, I would have been done with you.”

“I figured.”

“We should get together and talk sometime.”

“I’m free most days.”

Blake nodded. “How long have you been in it?”

“A while.”

“Okay. And Martine?”

“Yes, both of us.”

Blake looked across the room at Gabriel asleep in his carrier and Martine chatting with Suzanne. “It takes guts to start a family in the middle of something like that.”

“I’ll tell you the story someday,” Daniel responded.

“Did you really come to France to hide out from your girlfriend’s parents?”

“That’s part of the story.” Blake was smart and likable and seemed sympathetic to the Movement, but Daniel was not about to reveal any information to him just because he seemed like a nice guy. Alex and Gil had known that there would be support for the Movement inside France; if not, the General would never have sent him here. Blake was probably part of that support, but Daniel wasn’t making any assumptions.

“How do I get to hear the story?” Blake asked now.

Daniel smiled. “I’d need some verification of … let’s say, your position vis-à-vis what’s going on in my country.”

“Proof of my bona fides, then?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s not unreasonable. In fact, I would have been very surprised – unpleasantly surprised – if you’d taken me at my word.”

“You could be saying that to flatter me into more open communication now.”

Blake laughed out loud, and Maggie turned around to give him a conspiratorial grin. “I was told that you were very clever.”

“Were you? If I wanted to open a conversation, I could ask by whom.”

“You’re not asking, are you?”

“Nope. Why don’t you call me when you’re able to convince me that I should tell you a story or two?”

“I’ll do that.”

They shook hands at the end of the evening, having assessed one another as well as they could under the circumstances, both of them satisfied so far with what they saw. Daniel wondered how Blake, a British subject, had ended up in France and why he was interested in supporting the Movement. Evidently, he’d been in contact with members of it, and the next time they talked, he’d have proof that he could be trusted. Maybe then he would find out what the channel of communication was and who Blake was talking to. He went to bed feeling a little more hopeful, a little less cut off.

“What were you and Blake talking about?” Martine asked on the way home.

“I’m not sure,” Daniel responded. “I think we were talking about the Movement, but I need more information before I’ll trust him.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, he knows some things. He knows that I was part of the Movement, but he didn’t seem to have any specific knowledge about me. He asked me a couple of questions, but I don’t think he expected answers. It was more of a test to be sure I was who he had been told I was.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “Is it going to start again?”

“Is what going to start again?”

“You know, all of it – need to know and missions and looking over our shoulders all the time.” Her voice was a little unsteady.

He reached for her hand. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

She held on tight, silent the rest of the way home.

It was a couple of hours later when she knocked on the door of his room. “I can’t sleep,” she said, her eyes big and dark. She‘d never woken him up just because she was having a restless night.

He took her hand and they went into the sitting room and sat on the couch, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder. “Talk to me,” he said.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “I don’t know … what if it all starts again?”

“It won’t, not here, anyway. And there, it hasn’t stopped. We’ve been living in such peace here that it’s easy to forget they’re fighting every day.”

She took a long, trembling breath. “Danny, do you think … do you think they’re all still okay? Sometimes I worry that something could happen, and we’d never even know if Alex or John or Angelica …” Her voice broke.

It was a question that haunted him daily, the knowledge that John could be dead right now, and that he wouldn’t even know until somebody managed to get word through. It might be years before he found out. That was one reason he was so eager to establish communication with Blake. Blake was talking to somebody on the other side of the ocean, and he longed to have news from those he’d left behind.

“It will never be as bad here as it was there,” he told her now. “President Capet is nothing like President King. You hear him denounce King and his policies on the news.”

She nodded, her head still against his chest. He brought his hand up to play with her hair, running his fingers through it. It was soft, and he liked touching it. “What scares you, Patty?” he whispered. “What’s keeping you awake?”

She was listening to his heartbeat, steady and comforting. “I’m afraid you’ll go fight again. That you’ll get hurt again. You’ve already been shot, and then you were hurt trying to rescue Deb, and you were arrested and … all that, and you’re only seventeen.”

“I’m twenty-two,” he reminded her.

She didn’t respond for a few minutes, and then she sat up straight and looked at him directly.  “You never lie to me,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“John said you were fifteen going on thirty, so maybe you’re older than twenty-two.” She was trying to smile.

“John was the one who decided my age, so I’ll stay with twenty-two.” He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. He wanted so much to kiss her.

“Does it feel strange that you lost five years?” she asked.

He thought about it. “It doesn’t feel like I lost any time. I always felt like I didn’t belong in high school anyway.”

“You read everybody’s college books.”

“Yeah. Anyway, John made the decision about my age, and John knows me better than anybody else.”

“You trust John.” It wasn’t a question.

“Completely.”

“I don’t want you to be in danger again.” Her voice was so low he could barely hear her. “I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.” He knew what she meant.

It would be easy to say that wouldn’t happen, but he didn’t lie to her. He took both her hands in his. “No matter what happens here or back home, nothing is promised. We never know how much time we have. All I can promise you is that I won’t risk my life unnecessarily.”

“I know.” Of course she knew. She brought his hand up to her face and held it against her cheek.

Very lightly, he ran his thumb over her cheekbone and felt a tear. “Patty, sweetheart,” he whispered, “I don’t want you to cry.”

“I don’t cry as much as I used to,” she told him. “That’s something.”

“It is.” His hand was still cupping her cheek, and he slid it back into her hair, cradling her head. He would only have to move a few inches for his mouth to meet hers, but not now, not when she was feeling scared and anxious. He wasn’t going to be the kind of guy who used a girl’s fear that way. Anyway, she was still Nat’s girl; that was why she was scared. She knew exactly what it was like to lose the person she loved, knew first-hand what he could only imagine. He pulled her head back to his shoulder and held her, wishing there was a way to make it all right for her, but there wasn’t. “Tim told me more than once that all we can do is live the lives we have. He said it’s pointless to waste time wishing things were different, because then we waste whatever time we do have.”

“Tim’s smart,” she said, “and I know he’s right.” She leaned in and snuggled against him, her head against his collarbone. It felt so good to be close to him.

He put his face against her hair, inhaling her clean scent. It felt like she belonged there, warm and soft and close beside him. What would it be like to pick her up and carry her back to her room? He could do that easily, as small as she was, carry her down the hall and lay her down gently on the bed, pull the covers over her. Then he could lie down with her, holding her all night to keep her from being afraid.

He blinked and took a deep breath. It was not a good idea to sit here in the middle of the night with his arm around her, fantasizing about what he would like to do. Even if he wasn’t going to act on the fantasy – and he wasn’t – he was just making it harder on himself.

“You think maybe you’re ready to get some sleep now?” he asked as lightly as he could.

“Yeah, I think so. Thank you for sitting up with me.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You know I’m here for you.”

They walked together down the hall and turned off into their separate rooms.

 _Live the life we have,_ she thought. _The life we have right now is good._ _I’m glad we’re friends. I’m glad he’s in my life and Gabriel’s life. I don’t want to think about living without him, but it will probably happen someday, when the Movement’s done and they have free elections. I’ll still see him sometimes, but it won’t be like this. I’ll try to focus on living this life, because this is what we have._

Daniel closed the door to his room and stood there staring at the angel picture. _Help me out here, Gabriel,_ he pleaded silently. _I’m in love with her. I can’t imagine not loving her now, but I can’t let her know. It would mess up the life we have, and I don’t want to do that. She’s not going to love me the way I love her, but as it is now, I can see her and Gabri every day. That can be enough._

*          *          *          *          *

A week later, Blake called to invite Daniel to lunch at a café in the village. They sat near the back, and Daniel pretended not to notice Antoine off in the corner lingering over a cup of coffee.

“I have some questions for you,” Blake said.

Daniel regarded him thoughtfully and broke off a piece of bread. “All right.”

“This is the way it was explained to me,” Blake continued. “I will ask you a question, and if your answer is what it should be, you are to ask me a question about the same topic. That way we can check on one another.”

Daniel nodded. He felt shaky, as if he was about to open a locked door with no idea of what might be behind it. “Go ahead, then.”

Blake looked directly at him, his gray eyes serious. “First question: what is Saint Dismas?”

It was a completely unexpected topic, and yet it was exactly what Alex or Tim might tell someone to ask about. He smiled. “Saint Dismas is usually called the Good Thief. He was crucified next to Jesus.”

Blake frowned. “I said _what_ , not _who._ ”

“I know. I just wanted to give you some background information.”

“Showing off?”

“Maybe. Anyway, the answer to your question wouldn’t make sense unless you know who Saint Dismas was. There’s a church named for Saint Dismas in New York City.”

Blake smiled. “Yes, there is. Do you have a question related to it?”

Daniel had to think for a minute. He knew Tim was no longer the pastor there, and he had no idea what was happening at the church now. “Can you tell me who the pastor is now?”

Blake shook his head. “My information is that no pastor has been assigned there, but the church is continuing under the leadership of a Mr. Ernest Weathers.”

 _“Mr. Weathers?”_ Daniel was grinning broadly. “That’s good news.”

“I’m glad,” Blake said. “I wasn’t sure. Maybe you can tell me about Ernest Weathers sometime.”

“I will, but let’s get through these questions first.”

“Okay, the next one is odd. I’m to ask you to rhyme a surname with a university name. Does that make sense to you?”

“It makes perfect sense. Somebody was talking about Hale from Yale, right?”

“Yes, and that seemed very strange to me.”

“It was a sort of private joke.” _Only someone in the inner circle would have thought of that._

“So then you know that the person talking to me is speaking with authority.”

“It seems like it.”

“Any questions about this Hale from Yale?”

Blake didn’t seem to know that Nat Hale was dead. Would they have mentioned that to him? Maybe not, since it would also have involved Patty. A question to test what Blake knew … “Who’s his best friend?”

“Ah, that gets a bit tricky,” Blake responded. “I’ve actually spoken to the friend in question, but I’m not allowed to know his name because of the need to know rule. I can tell you, though, that he works in communications and is very good at codes.”

That was enough. Ben Tallmadge was in charge of the communications network the connected all parts of the Movement. He worked with someone else whose name Daniel didn’t know, someone that they referred to as _the tech genius._ “Okay, that’s good. I don’t know all the names either.”

“All right, then, last question, although I’m not sure we need another one. Who taught you to mix reflective ink?”

That was easy. “John Laurens.”

“Right again, and you get the prize. Before we go on to an actual conversation, any questions you want to ask about John Laurens?”

It took all Daniel’s determination to keep his voice from shaking. “Is he alive?”


	4. Revolutionary Covenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny gets a little information about the Movement back in New York. Blake gets further clearance. Danny has a difficult conversation with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some background in this chapter for those of you who haven't read "I Like You a Lot," so you can find out why Danny is in France when the fight is going on across the Atlantic.

Blake’s face changed, going from smiling to serious as if a shadow crossed it. His eyes softened in compassion. “He’s fine, Danny,” he said. “Still doing the best forgeries on either side of the Atlantic.”

Daniel looked down, then away, dragging in a deep breath. He hadn’t even realized how scared he had been to hear the answer until the relief swept over him. He finally looked up. “Have you ever met him?” he asked.

Blake shook his head. “I’ve only met a few of your people, and I don’t think they’re from the New York squad. I am also to tell you that the New York squad has gone underground, and that the other two sisters are with them. Does that make sense to you?”

The squad being underground, yes, he’d expected that, but the other two sisters? Oh, of course, Angelica and Eliza’s sister Peggy, and there was a baby sister too. That meant something must have happened to their parents. Shit. He looked up at Blake. “It makes sense, but it’s not all good news. It’s good to have some information, though, and it’s a relief to know that John is safe.”

“He’s a close friend?”

“More like a brother.”

Blake didn’t ask for details. “He’s incredibly talented. We’ve all got documents he’s produced, and they’re flawless.”

“You too?”

“Sure. I can’t go into your country in my own name.”

“Do I need to know your ID?”

“Not yet. You probably will eventually.”

“You called me Danny a few minutes ago …”

Blake shrugged impatiently. “Your name’s Daniel. I’m English, of course I might call you Danny. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all. I’m just wondering how much you know about me.”

“Not everything, I’m sure. I’m also sure you’re not going to give me any information that’s not absolutely necessary.”

“Need to know.”

“Quite. Your French is very, very good, by the way,” Blake told him. “When did you start studying it?”

Danny smiled. “The day after I got here.”

“I’m serious.”

“Me too.”

Blake stared at him. “You’ve been here how long, about nine months?”

“A little less than that.”

“And you’re telling me you learned to speak fluent, perfectly accented French in less than a year?”

“I don’t know how perfect my accent is, I still have trouble with …”

“How?” Blake broke in.

“I just pay attention,” Danny explained, embarrassed.

There was a brief silence, then, “They told me you were clever,” Blake said. “Obviously I underestimated just how clever.”

Danny laughed.

“That’s funny?”

“It was a joke in New York. There was someone who always assumed he was the smartest in the room, and sometimes he underestimated me. It always made John laugh.”

“That had to have been Alex Hamilton.”

“You know him?”

“No, but I know of him. So he’s not always the smartest in the room?”

“Oh, no, he is, but sometimes I came close, and it always surprised him.” He smiled in reminiscence. It was good just to hear the names.

“So would I be wrong to think that Alex is arrogant?”

Danny considered for a minute. “I wouldn’t call him arrogant. He has confidence in his own judgment, which is absolutely necessary for a leader, but he’s not afraid to consult others, and he always hears them out. He doesn’t have much patience with stupidity, though, and he has no tolerance for people not following protocol.”

Blake nodded. “That’s good to know. I may have got the wrong impression about him.”

“Oh, wait.” Danny leaned back in his chair and grinned. “You’ve only worked with a few people from the Movement. Would one of them by any chance be a tall guy with curly red hair?”

Blake’s mouth twitched, but he responded, “Sorry, you don’t need to know.”

“Right. Well, if that should be the case, it might be helpful if you know that the red-headed guy and Alex do not get along well. Don’t get me wrong, they’re both dedicated to the Movement, and they work together when they need to, but personally, they rub each other the wrong way.”

Blake nodded, smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I talk with … ah … Ginger.”

Danny laughed out loud. “So that’s our code name for him.”

“It is now.”

Blake signaled the waitress to bring them more coffee and settled in to brief Danny on how he and his group were working to help the Movement. “Obviously, our work here is very different from the work of the Movement in New York or Charleston. We don’t engage in sabotage or have demonstrations, but we support the goals of your Résistance. We feel that we can do that best by supplying certain items that the Movement needs.”

“Guns?” Danny asked bluntly.

Blake winced. “Don’t ever consider going into the diplomatic service,” he said. “We’re supposed to talk all around a point, not dive straight at it. For now, let’s just refer to the supplies as … supplies.”

 _So Blake trained as a diplomat,_ he thought. _I wonder if he let that drop on purpose, or if it was a slip. He probably meant to, but he could deny it if I asked. He’s smart. Not as smart as Alex, but maybe as smart as I am._ “How much decision-making autonomy do you have?” he asked.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Blake told him.

“And where do the … supplies come from?”

“Various places.” He wasn’t revealing much information.

“Okay. Are supplies delivered as needed or is there a storage facility?”

Blake looked around the café, which was practically deserted, although Antoine was still back in his corner drinking coffee and reading something on his phone. Blake studied him for a moment before turning back to the conversation.

“He’s all right,” Danny said.

“Who?”

“The guy at the corner table.”

“You know him?”

“Mm-hm. His name’s Antoine. He’s sort of my bodyguard.”

Blake’s eyebrows went up. “That’s rather interesting. Do you need a bodyguard?”

“Maybe. You should consider the possibility that the story you’ve heard about why Martine and I left New York may be … incomplete.”

“Really? It’s a very romantic story, but it probably wouldn’t account for your needing a bodyguard.”

“It could, if her parents were very upset.”

“Or it might not, if her parents weren’t looking for you – and anyway, wouldn’t they be looking for her, not you? Wouldn’t she be the one who needs the bodyguard?”

“You’re not encouraging me to tell you things you don’t need to know, are you?”

Blake shook his head. “It wouldn’t do any good. All right, I don’t need to know why you have a bodyguard, but it’s quite clear that you two are a bit more than the adorable boyfriend and girlfriend who were treated badly by your government. It seems that you’re well acquainted with Alex Hamilton and John Laurens, as well as the communications chief and … erm … Ginger. I’m going to request clearance to bring you in on everything, because the questions they gave me to ask you make it perfectly clear that you were deeply involved in the Résistance. I don’t want to waste time being coy about facts that we both already know.”

Danny nodded. “That would be a relief.”

“John Laurens taught you to mix reflective inks,” Blake said thoughtfully. “Are you a forger?”

“Get the clearance,” Danny told him. “There’s a lot I’d like to be able to tell you.”

They had to leave it at that.

*          *          *          *          *

“So you think something happened to Angelica and Eliza’s parents?” Martine asked, her forehead creased with concern. Gabriel had just woken up from his nap, and they were relaxing in the sitting room while he banged various toys on the floor to see what kind of noise they made.

“I can’t be positive,” Daniel told her, “but if Peggy and the baby sister …”

“Katie.”

“That’s right, Katie, I couldn’t remember – if they’re both underground with the rest of the squad, then it seems likely.”

She nodded. “They were probably arrested like my mom was.”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes filled. “Angelica and Eliza are really close with their parents and Peggy. They must be so worried. And how are they taking care of a baby if they’re in hiding?”

Daniel smiled. “Think about it. Think about the people we know.”

After a minute, she smiled back. “Everybody’s helping, right?”

He nodded. “Remember how they were going to set up their classes so they could take turns babysitting so you wouldn’t have to pay for daycare?”

“Yeah.” She brushed her tears away with her fingers, and smiled at her son, who had abandoned the toys and was clutching at the couch, trying to pull himself upright. It was his latest accomplishment. He got to a standing position and said what seemed to be his version of “Hey, look what I did!”

“Good job!” she told him and turned back to Danny. “I wish everybody in New York could see him.”

“Me too. But we finally know they’re all okay, and maybe Blake will get clearance for us to get updates from time to time. At least we made some progress today.”

“What do you think Blake is doing with the Movement, actually?” she asked.

“Gun-running, almost certainly. One of the General’s goals over the next year or two is to increase membership in the Movement and to be sure everyone is trained. We were able to do that informally because John forged IDs back in the beginning that they used to buy guns, and then Alex, John, Herc, and Gil held up that police station and stole basically their whole armory. We had enough guns for everyone, and John already knew how to shoot, so he could teach the rest of us. I think our squad was better armed and better trained with guns than any of the other ones, except maybe Frank Marion’s.”

“Why his?”

“Well, first, because everybody, including Alex, says he’s the best leader the Movement has except for General Akhdir himself, but also because he grew up in Sour Carolina like John did, and learned to hunt when he was young. Probably most of his squad is from the same area with the same background.”

“Did he and John know each other? Before the Movement, I mean.”

“I don’t know. You know how John doesn’t say much about his past.”

She nodded. “There’s some really dark stuff there, I think.”

“Yeah.” John hadn’t exactly poured his heart out while they were working on inks and documents, but he had let fall enough information that Danny had a pretty good idea that his childhood had been hell. John’s mother was dead. Henry Laurens, his father, was extremely wealthy and extremely cruel. Something had happened when John was about sixteen that got him put out of the house and sent off to boarding school and then to college, with a trust fund left to him by his grandfather paying the bills. He had four younger siblings that he hadn’t had any contact with since then, and he missed them. There was more, most of it unsaid, but it was clear that Henry Laurens was a homophobe and a bigot in every way. “I wonder if Frank Marion knows John’s father.”

“I’ve gathered that John’s father is not a good guy.”

“Yeah. If Frank Marion knows him, I’m sure he’s keeping a close eye on him. Henry Laurens is a personal friend of President King.”

Martine shuddered. “That’s enough right there to make me hate him. Plus, John is the sweetest guy in the world, and even if he weren’t – how could any father cut off contact with his own son?”

Daniel looked at Gabriel, who had cruised to the end of the couch and seemed to be deciding where to go next. He loved him more every day. How could it be possible to have a child from the day he was born, raise him for sixteen years, and then throw him out like yesterday’s trash? It made him sick to think of it. He got up and crossed the room. “Well,” he said to the little boy who looked up at him with a grin, “you can either crawl to the next piece of furniture, or you can learn to walk.”

Gabriel presented his side of the argument, and Danny nodded in agreement. “I agree that you’re probably not going to be able to walk for a couple more months, so you might have to drop down and crawl.”

Gabriel repeated his argument and hit the couch a few times for emphasis. Danny leaned down, and Gabriel immediately put up both his arms to be picked up. Martine watched from a few yards away, saw Danny pick him up and kiss him, still talking to him. It melted her heart to see them together, Gabriel looking so much like Nat, and Danny without any doubt being the same kind of father Nat would have been. _We’re so lucky,_ she thought. _We’re so lucky to have him._

*          *          *          *          *

Weeks passed while he waited for Blake to get in touch again, weeks that Danny spent running every morning and studying whatever he could get his hands on later in the day. The castle had an extensive library, so he was working his way through French literature while learning about economics and military history online. _Nothing you learn is ever wasted,_ he reminded himself. He hoped he wouldn’t need to know the military tactics, but no matter what role he took in the Movement, it would help if he understood economics, and studying political history and forms of government was absolutely necessary.

“Do you know the history of every country in Europe now?” Martine asked him one evening.

He laughed. “No, not even the complete history of France, but I’m making progress. It’s interesting to look at the different policies that governments have tried, to see what has worked and what hasn’t.”

“So you’ll know what to do when you’re President?”

“Theoretically, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“You used to say you wanted to run for Congress. Do you still think about it?”

“Well, first, we have to restore Constitutional government and make sure Congress is something other than a rubber stamp for the President, then we’ll see.” His smile faded. “We have a long way to go.”

She took his hand. “We’ll get there.”

He wondered if she had guessed how Alex had convinced the General to approve the mission that broke him out of prison and smuggled him to France. He hadn’t told her, but Martine wasn’t stupid. She would know that the General would never risk a dozen lives to save one, unless that one was strategically very important to the Movement and the future of the country. While they waited in France, the Movement was reorganizing and training for a second insurrection. The first one had ended badly, with thousands dead and the surviving Movement members driven into hiding by King’s Greaters. Now the General, along with the local leaders like Alex, TJ, Frank, and Tony, was biding his time; he knew that eventually the citizens would grow frustrated with the unfair economic designations that divided them into rich, privileged Haves, struggling Hopes, and desperately poor Deplos. King had sold his program as one that rewarded the hardest-working people, but it soon became apparent that no amount of work could get a Deplo to prosperity, while many of the Haves lived in luxury because of inherited wealth. It was already a system rife with corruption. At some point it would implode. The General was planning to initiate the Second Insurrection as the economic system began to collapse. It would require perfect timing, and it was also necessary that the Movement have enough new recruits to support such an action. There was no way to know if it would all come together successfully. If it didn’t – well, that would be his job, to go back to New York and start over, to keep the Movement alive. He’d have to recruit new leaders if the current ones were gone. He knew a few – Billy Hale, Herc’s sister Venus, maybe Betsy’s sister Rachel. There would be others. It was a job he hoped he’d never have to do, but he would be ready for it if it came.

It was more than a month before Blake called, and he apologized for the delay. “There were some communication issues,” he explained briefly. “Would it be convenient if Maggie and I dropped by one evening this week? We’d like to see both you and Martine.” There was the slightest emphasis on _both._ Whatever Blake had been told, they were going to let Patty in on it too, thank God.

“Sure,” he responded. “How about Wednesday?”

They agreed on a time and he told Martine about the plans.

“Both of us?” she asked.

“Yeah, he specifically said that.”

“I guess that means the General has decided I can be trusted?” Her voice had a sarcastic edge.

He took her hand. “You know I trust you …”

She smiled up at him. “Of course I do. And in all fairness, I was never part of the Movement in the way that you were. I supported it, but I never trained with a gun or any of that.”

“No, you just risked your life as a courier,” he reminded her.

A shadow crossed her face. “We made it out,” she said. “Well, they came and got us out.”

He nodded. He’d been back in New York with Herc and Tim and Betsy while the others went on the Mission into rural Pennsylvania to bring Patty and Nat home. They’d come back safe – or mostly safe – and it was only much later that they’d learned who betrayed them. They’d taken care of him.

He put his arms around her now. “You’re so brave,” he said, stroking her hair.

She leaned against his chest and took a deep breath. She felt safe with him. Whatever might lie ahead, whatever Blake was going to talk to them about, she felt safe now.

*          *          *          *          *

They invited Blake and Maggie into their private sitting room because Gabriel was already asleep and they wanted to be able to hear him if he woke up. At least, that was what they said, although everyone, including Julien and Sophie, knew that they had things to talk about that couldn’t be discussed openly.

“I’m going to make a call in a few minutes,” Blake said once they’d settled in. “You’ll be able to talk to somebody that you know, and we can be done with the cloak-and-dagger nonsense.”

“That would be a relief,” Daniel agreed.

“For the record,” Blake continued, “I have no doubt that you are who you are supposed to be. This is just for official verification. I should also tell you that Roland, Suzanne, and Aiden have been read in on what we’re doing, so we will all be able to talk to one another freely.”

“Inner circle,” Danny responded, remembering.

“Sorry, what’s that?”

“It’s a phrase Alex used. The inner circle is those that you trust absolutely, often with your life. The outer circle is those that are part of the Movement and are probably trustworthy, but you can’t risk being completely open with them.”

“I see. It makes sense. You can’t possibly include everyone in every decision, so you have a small group that you discuss things with. That group has all the information so they can give you intelligent advice.”

“Right.”

“That’s more or less the way we’ve been operating – or at least the way we were operating until you arrived.”

“Did I screw things up?”

“Not exactly, we just weren’t sure what to do with you. I’m going to make that call now.”

He picked up his phone and dialed a sequence of numbers. Not somebody on his contact list, but of course it wouldn’t be. “Hello,” Blake said when someone answered. “I hear you’ve had some storms this week.”

_He’s not talking about the weather; he’s using a code phrase._

Blake listened to the response, and evidently it was the correct one. “He’s right here,” he continued. “I’ll give him the phone.”

He held out the phone and whispered, “No names.”

Daniel nodded and put the phone to his ear. “Hello,” he said.

“Hi, I hope you’re enjoying your visit.” _Ben Tallmadge!_ He’d know that voice anywhere.

“I am, very much. How are you?”

“Fine.” _Safe._

“And the family?” _Everybody else?_

“They’re well, working hard, you know.” _Safe but struggling._

“I’ve met some very nice people here. Quite a coincidence that they’re friends of yours.”

“Yes, I met them through a mutual acquaintance, the professor.” _Professor? That would be either Dr. Barron or Dr. Wilson, the Columbia professors who were involved with the Movement. They were both entirely trustworthy._ “I’m glad you have a chance to get to know them. It’s always good to have a close circle of friends.” _Circle._

Danny thought for a minute before he responded. He had to let Ben know he understood. “Yes, it is. I’ve missed having a circle of friends to talk with and share things with. I’m hoping to be part of this new circle here.”

“I’m very glad to hear you say that. You couldn’t do better than to have friends like them. I think you’ll really enjoy their company.” _You can trust them._

“That’s pretty much what I had concluded myself.”

Ben chuckled. “You’ve always been good at figuring things out.” That alone would have convinced him that it was Ben Tallmadge on the phone, even if he hadn’t recognized his voice. How many times had Ben or John teased Alex by telling him that Danny figured things out as well as he did? His throat suddenly got tight. “How are you?” Ben asked now, more formally.

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m fine. Everyone here is well.” _Let them know about Patty._ “We’re very comfortable.” _A thank-you to Gil._ “Please give the family my best.” _Tell them all that I love them and miss them._

“I will if I get the chance,” Ben responded. “I don’t get to see them very often, you know. We’re all so busy.” _I may not be able to talk to them._

“Right, of course. It’s been good talking to you.”

“You too. Take care.” _And that meant exactly what it said._

Daniel handed the phone back to Blake, barely paying attention. He got up and left the room, walked down the hall to his bedroom, and stood staring up at the angel picture. _I don’t know if I can do this, Gabriel. I don’t know if I’m strong enough._

Patty found him there, came up behind him and put her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his back. They stood like that for a few minutes, then he turned to face her. “It was Ben,” he told her, his voice choked with tears.

She held onto both of his hands. “He’s all right, then,” she said.

“Yeah.” He took a breath. “Everyone’s all right.”

“So, good news.”

He nodded and ran his hand over his eyes. “It was hearing his voice …”

“I know.” She understood in a way no one else could.

He took a step forward and put his arms around her, holding her tight. “I couldn’t do this without you. You have so much courage that some of it rubs off on me.”

Her face was pressed against his collarbone, but he heard her huff a faint laugh. “Oh, Danny, I’m not … listen, we’re going to do this. You and me and Gabriel, we’re going to get through all of this.”

He kissed the top of her head, wishing it was different, wishing she was his to kiss as he wanted to kiss her. Still, he was grateful beyond words for what he had. He held her for another minute, then let her go, keeping one hand in his. “We should go back. We can’t abandon our guests.”

She held his hand tightly all the way down the hall.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last chapter I can post before Christmas, because my writing time is really limited over the next few weeks. More coming as soon as possible, though, and we're going to get to talk about the guns.  
> Thanks for comments and kudos. I love hearing from you all!


	5. I Want a Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny learns about gun-running. Patty learns about mixing inks. Julien and Sophie get married. Gabriel has his first birthday. Danny and Patty figure some things out.

“So,” Danny said, settling into his chair, “tell me about the guns.”

“Why are you so sure it’s guns?” Blake asked, genuinely curious.

Danny held out his hands and counted off on his fingers. “It’s certainly not personnel, because how in the world could you recruit anyone here for an insurrection on the other side of the Atlantic? There’s no practical way to get large equipment like vehicles from here to there. Of course, it could be money, but King has made it almost impossible to get arms, so even if they had the money, they’d have trouble getting guns.” He considered for a minute. “It may be guns and easily transported explosives like C-4 as well, but I’d say mostly guns. Even C-4 isn’t all that easy to get your hands on.” He looked up met Blake’s gaze. “Am I right?”

Blake nodded. “A hundred percent. I suppose you also know where we’re getting the guns?”

“That I’m not so sure about. I doubt if they’re coming from a private source, but if they’re being supplied by either the French or the British government, there’s some seriously sketchy bookkeeping going on.”

“What the hell do you know about the French or British military budgets?”

“I pay attention to the news,” Danny said. “Anyway, everything’s on the Assemblée Nationale website. They’re required to post any proposed actions and votes.”

“And you read all that?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, you read the Proceedings of the Assemblée?”

“Yes.” Danny was straightforward. “Every day. Most of it’s boring and unimportant, but the stuff that isn’t is stuff I need to know. You think I’ve been here a year and I wouldn’t even keep track of the country’s financial and legal proceedings? You do realize I’m not on vacation, right?”

“Right.” Blake took a breath. “Sorry, they told me, but …”

Danny raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What did they tell you?”

“That even if I thought I wasn’t underestimating you, I probably would be, because you don’t seem intense.”

“I’m not intense. Like I said, I pay attention.”

“And memorize?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve never had trouble remembering things.”

Blake looked at Martine. “What else does he do?”

She looked sideways at Danny, then responded. “He’s studied Constitutional law, political science, and theology. He speaks pretty good Spanish. Oh, and he’s trained as a sniper, and hand-to-hand, he can probably take you down in less than three moves.”

Danny put his face in his hands. “Way to expose all my secrets,” he muttered.

“You were a sniper?” Maggie asked.

“We all trained with guns. I’m a pretty good shot. Not as good as Gil, though.”

“Gil?”

“Lafayette. He can kneecap a guy in the street from the roof of a twenty-story building.”

“Useful,” Blake noted, swallowing hard. “I was going to ask you more about forging documents, but … or do you do that too?”

“Well, I’m no John Laurens, but I was his backup.”

“Sorry, I forgot to mention that,” Martine said helpfully.

“I get the feeling,” Maggie began slowly, “that we’ve all been operating at reduced speed here. We thought you’d have to catch up with us, but it’s the other way round.”

“I’m not interested in any kind of power play,” Danny said directly. “I don’t have any burning desire to be the guy in charge or anything like that. I just want you to know that I take it all seriously, and if I say I can do something, I’m not lying.”

Blake nodded. “Understood. And you’re right, the guns are being financed by the French government, sketchy bookkeeping and all. Obviously, the entire military budget isn’t open to the public, but I’m not sure what category the guns are coming out of. France provides the arms, but they cross the ocean in British ships.”

“That makes sense. We know both President Capet and Prime Minister Guilford despise President King. They would both support the Movement. They’re not using naval vessels, though, are they?”

“No, commercial ships with falsified cargo documents.”

“And where do they unload the cargo?”

“Charleston. Your man in charge there has a very well-organized operation.”

Danny grinned. “Frank Marion. Everybody says he’s the best the Movement’s got.”

“I’ve met him. He doesn’t have much to say, but I’ve never known him to make a bad decision.”

“I’d like to meet him.”

“You’ll probably get a chance.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “I thought I was supposed to stay in France.”

“You are … unless you’re needed somewhere else.”

John had said, explaining why they’d changed his age by so much, _“We can’t be sure where you might be over the next few years, and some countries still have twenty-one as the age of adulthood.”_ He had wondered then what he might mean, and he didn’t really understand now why he might be needed somewhere else, but he’d figure it out when he had to. “I’d like to take a look at the cargo manifests,” he said now. “Some real ones and some of the falsified ones you’ve been using.”

“Okay,” Blake said, nodding. “I can get them for you.”

“And tell me how you’ve been getting through Customs.”

Blake shifted in his chair and glanced at Maggie. “Well, mostly we haven’t had any trouble. Customs personnel rarely open the shipping containers, and we always have a layer of legitimate merchandise over the guns, so unless they really start digging around, we’re safe enough. The one time a fellow seemed suspicious, we gave him a generous tip to expedite offloading the cargo because we were behind schedule.”

“Yeah, that’s really stupid.”

“I know it’s not best practice, but bribery and corruption are part of the program.”

“And now he can blackmail you.”

“It’s unlikely. He didn’t actually see any weapons, we just rushed him along a bit.”

“Okay, but we need a real plan for dealing with a customs official who may figure something out. Let’s be sure bribery is our last resort.”

“Fine.” Blake grimaced. “It’s not like we have much disposable cash anyway.”

“About how many guns do you transport per trip?” Danny asked.

“We can get maybe three hundred plus ammo per container. Of course, the ship has to carry other cargo as well, so, at best, a thousand or so per trip.”

“And what does Frank do with them when they get there?”

“He tells me I don’t need to know,” Blake responded ruefully, “but most of them aren’t being distributed yet.”

Danny raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“The General wants to wait until – how does he say it? – until the Movement has strengthened to the point that be offensive actions can be taken.”

“So, training and recruiting first, then everybody gets armed before the next insurrection?”

Blake nodded. “That seems to be the plan.”

“All right.” Danny thought it over. “Do you go on all the trips?”

“Most of them. If not me, then Maggie, Roland, or Aiden.”

“But there’s somebody representing the Movement’s interests on every voyage?”

“Absolutely.”

“Have you met anybody besides Frank Marion and … uh, Ginger?”

“I’ve met one of Frank’s lieutenants. I know him as Pete, but I don’t know if that’s his real name, and I’ve never heard his last name. Ginger usually has a girl with him. He seems to rely on her, talks everything over with her, but I’ve never spoken to her myself, and I don’t know her name. I met the communications chief once, and I’ve talked to the General on a secure phone a couple of times.”

“Is Norfolk a back-up port in case something goes wrong with Charleston?”

“How did you know?”

“Well, Ginger works out of Norfolk, so why else would you meet him? And I know the General must have a Plan B.”

“Yeah, I’m just hoping we can keep shipping to Charleston. I’d rather work with Frank Marion than Ginger.”

Danny laughed. “Who wouldn't?”

*          *          *          *          *

The falsified cargo manifests were good, and they probably would fool most people most of the time, but Daniel had noticed two problems that needed to be rectified. First, the alignment of the margins on the fakes was a tiny bit off, maybe a sixteenth of an inch. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that an alert observer might think, _That doesn’t look quite right._ Second, the black ink used on the false documents had shadings of purple, while the black on the real manifests leaned toward green. John had told him a million times that black was never just black. “White is the absence of all colors, and black is the presence of all colors, but those colors may be in different proportions from one black to another,” John had said. “Look at the black, and you’ll see other colors.”

At first it had seemed impossible, but he kept studying it, looking at black in different lights, staring at it in the sunlight from the window. John showed him black squares side by side, and for weeks they had looked exactly the same, but then one day, he’d seen something different. “Does this one have more blue?” he’d asked tentatively, pointing, and John had grinned at him.

“You got it,” he’d said. “Good job.”

After that, it got easier, and a few months later, John was letting him mix the inks because he could get an exact match. “How come it’s so easy to tell the difference now?” he asked John one day. “Six months ago, all I could see was black.”

“It’s called training your eye,” John told him, “but it’s just learning to see what you’re looking at. That’s what artists do – they learn to see.”

He’d blushed at that, looked at his feet, thrilled that John had called him an artist and embarrassed to let it show. He’d been barely fifteen. It felt like a lifetime ago. He rubbed his eyes, looking down at the cargo manifests with their obvious – to him – different shades of black. He was going to have to mix the inks for these himself, but he would need to train somebody else the way John had trained him.

It was his night to put Gabriel to bed, so he gave him his bath with a lot of splashing and special sound effects for the two plastic boats that sailed in the bathtub with him, then got him into his pajamas and read him a story. Tonight’s book was about a baby lion and his father, who both liked hugs. As always, Gabriel paid close attention, and tonight, he leaned forward and patted the picture of the lion and the cub curled up together.

 _“Le papa lion et le bébé,”_ Daniel said. “The daddy lion and the baby. The daddy loves his baby just like I love you.”

Gabriel smiled and patted the picture again. Then he snuggled against Daniel’s shoulder and patted his back in the same way he’d patted the picture in the book. Daniel caught his breath and whispered, “Yeah, just like us. I love you so much.”

He held the baby until he was asleep and then laid him gently in his crib. Martine was in the sitting room looking through a magazine. She looked up at him and smiled. “It sounded like there was a naval battle going on in the bathtub,” she said.

“It was not a battle,” Daniel replied seriously, settling into a chair and putting his feet up on an ottoman. “One of the boats had a breakdown, and the tugboat had to come rescue it.”

“Oh, of course. I should have realized.”

“He’s sound asleep now. He’s an easy baby.”

“He is, isn’t he? That probably means he’ll be impossible when he’s a teenager.”

“Nah, he’s a good kid. He feels secure. He knows we love him.”

She smiled. “Is that why you’re so comfortable with yourself? Because you knew you were loved?”

The question surprised him, and it surprised him even more that he’d never thought about it. It took a few minutes to come up with an answer. “No, that can’t be it. I never knew my dad, and I was always aware that if he’d really loved me, he would have stuck around. My mom – she loves me, yeah, but it’s not like she spent a lot of time with me, or did things with me. I don’t blame her; most of the time she was working two jobs, but I was on my own a lot.”

“So according to all the psychology articles I’ve read, you should have zero self-confidence and be really anxious.”

“You’re sure that’s not the real me?”

She snorted. “Yeah.”

“That’s all down to Tim.”

“How old were you when you met him?”

“Not quite twelve. There were some kids from the neighborhood who used to play basketball at the park. Tim showed up one day and started playing with us. He’d talk to us – not about church, at least not at first, just about school and home and anything we might want to talk about.” He stopped for a minute, remembering. “I think he was the first adult who ever made me feel that he was interested in me as a person.”

“No teachers?” she asked. “As good a student as you were, I thought the teachers would have loved you.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t a good student in elementary school. I was bored out of my mind. I read books, but I never did the homework, so I got mostly C’s.”

“Did Tim get you to do your homework?”

“Not really. That actually remained an issue for the rest of my time in school, but he made me answer questions about what I was learning. In sixth or seventh grade, we read _Number the Stars_ in school. I had only the vaguest idea of what World War II was, but I asked Tim why people would act like that, why Hitler would want to kill all the Jews. We spent the next few weeks with this big map on his kitchen table, and he took me through the whole thing, from the defeat of Germany in World War I, the economic mess that led to the election of Hitler, and everything that followed. He talked a lot about scapegoating and how it’s still going on. He made me want to understand more, and I started reading serious history and economics books. We’d talk about them, and if he didn’t know something, we’d look it up together.” He stopped and thought about it, about all those long conversations, about Tim letting him read all his own college textbooks, answering his questions with endless patience. “I owe everything to Tim. I don’t know how he put up with me some days, but he always had time for me. That’s what I want for Gabriel. I want him to know that he’ll come first.”

“You want to be a good father,” Martine said softly.

He smiled at her. “Is that what it is? Tim’s the closest thing I ever had as a father, but he’s also my friend. If I can be to Gabri what Tim is to me, I’ll be satisfied.”

She smiled back. “Well, you’ve turned out okay, so I’m happy with that.”

“You think I’m okay?” he asked, just making a joke.

Her tone was serious when she answered, “Actually, I think you’re pretty amazing.”

He flushed and looked down, not sure how to respond. After a minute, he took the easy way out and changed the subject. “Would you be interested in learning how to mix inks?”

*          *          *          *          *

Julien and Sophie got married in May in a small ceremony at the _Mairie_ in the village. Daniel and Martine and a few other friends were there, but it was a very simple wedding.

“I don’t want it to be a big deal,” Sophie said. “It’s not going to change anything about our lives.” She wore a pretty blue and white dress and carried a small bouquet of white roses tied with blue ribbon, and small wedding or not, she and Julien seemed as happy as any bride and groom. They all went to a restaurant for a festive lunch, and then the newlyweds left for a week in Nice to enjoy the Mediterranean sunshine. They’d be back in time for Gabriel’s first birthday.

“You’ve been here a year,” Martine said to Daniel after they got back to the castle.

“It’s gone fast.” He’d arrived before Gabriel was born, and now they were getting ready to celebrate his first birthday.

“Just a small party,” Martine had said. “Julien and Sophie and a few friends.” That meant the ones that Daniel was now referring to as the Circle – Blake and Maggie, Roland and Suzanne, Aiden, Louise, and Antoine. They’d learned that Aiden and Louise weren’t actually together. They were good friends and often posed as a couple, but in reality, Aiden preferred guys, and Louise wasn’t currently dating anyone. Antoine still acted as an informal bodyguard, but he had been accepted into the Circle, and he and Aiden were spending a lot of time together. None of them had children, though, so Gabriel would be the only child at his own party.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Martine said, “but I want to be sure he gets to spend time with other kids.”

“It’s different than it was when Gil was growing up here,” Daniel told her. “There are preschools in the village, and if we’re still here when he starts school, we’ll send him to public school. Gil had a tutor.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you suppose anybody still does that?”

“Well, we won’t, anyway. We’ll be sure he has lots of friends his own age.”

Daniel didn’t tell her that idea tugged at his heart a little. Right now, they were the most important people in Gabriel’s life. He was walking confidently and saying quite a few words, some in English and some in French. He called them _Maman_ and _Papa_ , and the best moment of Daniel’s day was when Gabriel ran to him yelling, “Papa, papa!” and held out his arms to be picked up. The time would come soon enough when he wanted to play with somebody else. For now, he was glad things were the way they were.

That worried him. It was dangerous to become too happy with their lives here, so content that the Movement wasn’t the priority it should be. The information they got was that things were still quiet. Movement members were involved in low-level sabotage and disruption, but there were no plans yet for another insurrection. That would take place only when they had enough members and they were trained for it. In the meantime, Blake was directing the shipments of guns, and Daniel had made sure the cargo manifests were improved with better alignment and new ink colors. Martine had shown herself to be an apt pupil at matching the ink on various documents.

“It’s kind of like baking,” she had said casually one day.

“What?”

“It’s like baking. You have to start with a recipe, but you can adjust it for different results.” She pointed at the colors she was comparing on a sheet of paper. “They’re not quite the same. If you’re baking something for customers, the product has to be the same for every batch. If there’s no consistency, the customers don’t keep coming back.”

“I hadn’t looked at it from that point of view.”

She shrugged. “That’s because you’ve never baked six dozen blueberry scones and had to be sure they all tasted exactly the same.”

“Good point – and you must be right, because you’re catching on to mixing the ink really fast.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “I’m glad. I finally feel like I can be useful.”

“Patty …” there was no one else around and he could call her that if he wanted to. “You have no idea how much you do. For starters, I would have lost my mind if you weren’t here. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to come here alone.”

She nodded, not saying anything, and he realized that that was exactly what she had done. She’d been at Chavaniac for six months before he got there. Of course she’d had Sophie and Julien to talk to, but they didn’t know her, and she couldn’t discuss anything about her previous life with them. Daniel put his hand to his forehead. “I’m an idiot.”

“Not always,” she told him, trying not to smile.

He held out his hands. “I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

She took his hands. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Except my thinking only about myself.”

“You don’t, though. It’s natural to think of your own experience instead of mine, but remember, we didn’t even know each other all that well when you got here. Then, you know, a couple of weeks later you saw me naked, and all the awkwardness was gone.”

He felt the blood rush to his face. “I’m sorry, what?”

She was laughing. “When Gabri was born, I mean. I wasn’t paying much attention at the time because there was a lot going on, but I know you’ve seen everything.”

“Well, yes, okay, but like you said, there was a lot going on, and honestly, Patty, that wasn’t what I was thinking about.” _Not then, anyway_.

She was still holding his hands and she tightened her grasp. “I know. You wouldn’t, anyway … I don’t know what I would have done without you that day.”

“I’m so glad I was there.” He tugged on her hands and pulled her in for a hug. “I’m glad I was the first one who got to hold Gabriel.”

She had her arms around his waist, and he put his face against her hair. He’d been doing that a lot lately. He always told himself he wouldn’t do it again, but her hair was soft and smelled good, so here he was, breathing in its scent while she held onto him.

“How tall are you?” she asked, seemingly irrelevantly.

“About six-two,” he responded. “Why?”

“Well, the only way I can hug you is around your waist,” she said. She stepped back and tried to get her arms around his neck. She could do it, but only if she stood on tiptoe and he leaned down a little.

“And how tall are you?” he inquired, smiling.

“Almost five-two,” she replied a little defensively.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, I’m five-one, which is almost five-two if you’re estimating.”

“Weren’t you just telling me how important precise measurements were?”

“In recipes, not in human beings.”

He loved the way she was smiling up at him. “I think you’re exactly the right size,” he told her.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, you’d be really easy to pick up and carry …”

She started laughing. “Why would you …”

He didn’t let her finish, just swept her up, one arm under her knees, one around her waist, and she had her arms around his neck to hold on. Her face was so close to his …

He spun around once as if that’s what he’d planned, and put her down quickly, both of them breathing a little fast.

She recovered her composure first. “That’s good to know, in case I break an ankle or anything …”

“Right, that’s what I was thinking.” _That wasn’t at all what I was thinking. I was thinking that my bed is right down the hall. We could have been there by now_.

Her smile was a little too bright. “I need to go talk to Josette about Gabri’s birthday cake,” she said, and she left the room.

 _You are a fucking moron,_ he told himself angrily. _Why do you keep doing things that will mess up the best thing that’s ever happened to you?_ _Stop acting like a stupid kid. You know better._

Martine got to the bottom of the steps, but she didn’t go into the kitchen. Instead, she stood in the hall for a few minutes, pressing herself up against the cold stone wall, her hands against her face, trying to calm herself down. _I love him. God help me, I don’t just love him, I want him. What am I going to do?_

*          *          *          *          *

Gabriel’s birthday party was a great success. Josette baked him his own small cake, which he happily demolished, eating most of it, and getting the rest of it on his face, his high chair tray, and the floor. He got gifts from everyone, including a big toy boat that Julien and Sophie had brought back from Nice, too big to go into the bathtub, but just the right size to play with in the pool in another month or so. Maggie and Blake got him a wooden train and track starter set that they could add to.

“You’ll see,” Aiden told them as they helped Gabriel open his gift, more track pieces and a small bridge. “Our cousin’s kid has one of these sets, and it takes up half their living room.”

“You don’t have to get all the pieces,” Maggie pointed out, but Daniel was already on the floor, fitting lengths of track together.

He looked up as Gabriel tried to move the train along the track, “Oh, we’re getting all the pieces.”

Gabriel was exhausted by the time everyone left, and Daniel carried him upstairs.

“I wish we could skip his bath and just put him to bed,” Martine said, “but he’s a sticky mess. He’s got icing everywhere.”

“Including his hair,” Daniel agreed. “It’s sticking to my face. Why don’t I just take him into the shower with me?”

“You don’t mind? That would be great.”

“Of course I don’t mind. We’ll be in and out in a few minutes, because this little guy needs to get to bed.”

Gabriel thought it was great fun to stand in the shower with Papa, and Daniel made short work of getting the icing out of his hair and getting them both cleaned up. He pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants, put a clean diaper on Gabriel, and carried him across the hall. Martine had just gotten out of the shower herself and was wearing pajamas, her hair damp and messy. She held out her arms and took the baby, then laid him down on the bed and snapped him into a clean sleeper. Gabriel didn’t usually lie still, but tonight he was really sleepy, and he nestled against her as she picked him up.

“I don’t think he can stay awake for a story tonight,” she said, a little wistfully.

“You sit down in the rocking chair with him, and I’ll read the story,” Daniel suggested. “Even if he doesn’t hear the whole story, it’s good for him to hear our voices.”

She sat down and rocked gently, and Daniel turned the desk chair around and read _Goodnight Moon_ in English. Gabriel was sound asleep before he got to “Good night, kittens,” but he read a few more pages anyway. It was nice just to sit here in the quiet room, watching Patty rock the little fair-haired boy who looked so much like his father. _I hope Nat knows he’s okay. I hope he knows how much I love his son – my son, too, now, but still Nat’s son._

Patty looked up and smiled at him, and stood up, Gabriel in her arms, to put him in his crib. He walked with her to the crib, and they both bent to kiss the baby goodnight at the same instant, and somehow their lips came together against his forehead.

For less than a second, they were both completely still, and then she very gently set the baby down and turned back to him, moving closer, and he put his hand on her cheek, bending down. She brought her lips back to his and sighed, and his thumb grazed her cheekbone, and then it was all real. Her mouth was incredibly soft, and he slid his hand into her hair, holding her head as he found his way.

After a minute, he pulled back, unsure. “I’ve thought about this …”

“Have you?” she asked, her eyes on his.

“So much.”

She brushed her fingers lightly across his forehead, down his cheek, to his neck. “Me too.”

His heart was pounding. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She smiled. “Wouldn’t it be a little awkward to say, ‘You know, Danny, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it would be like to kiss you’?”

“Maybe a little, but, I don’t know – worth a try?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “I didn’t … what if you weren’t okay with it? And anyway …”

“Anyway?”

“I don’t want you to miss out on things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All the normal things – dating, girlfriends, college, you know.”

How absurd that was. “Patty, think about our lives since King took office. The day I met Alex was the day I got shot, and the next thing I knew, I was learning to forge documents. You fell in love with a seditionist, were a widow before you were twenty. I was arrested for murder and then broken out of prison by a gang of revolutionaries. We both escaped the country with help from a foreign government and now we’re raising a little boy in a castle. Please tell me if at any time in all of that you thought, ‘Gosh, how awful to miss the Homecoming Dance’.”

She started laughing. “No, not if you put it like that.”

“There’s no other way to put it. It hasn’t been normal. It won’t be. We have the lives we have.”

“And we’re lucky to be alive.”

“Exactly.”

She was standing on tiptoe to stroke his neck and his jawline gently, and it was driving him crazy. He bent down again, closed his eyes, and pulled her closer. “I’m going to need a lot of practice on this,” he said. He kissed her lightly, then not as lightly, then experimentally slipped his tongue between her lips. She made a tiny sound that seemed encouraging, so he explored a little more, tentatively. It was amazing to feel and taste the warmth and the softness of her mouth, to experience her response to him. _I could do this all day,_ he thought. _I wonder …_

She pulled back suddenly and looked up at him, frowning. “Wait – what do you mean, you’re going to need a lot of practice?”

He hesitated, feeling himself flush, and glanced away for a moment, then looked back, meeting her gaze directly. “I haven’t actually done this before.”

Her eyes went wide. “Do you mean that was your first kiss?”

“Well, technically my second, since we …”

“Yeah, right, I got it.” She stared at him, troubled. “Oh, God. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

He took both her hands in his. “Before you left New York, when you were hiding at the church, I thought you were the prettiest girl I knew. Not just that, but that you were kind and loving, and braver than anybody should ever have to be. I hoped then that I’d get a chance to see you again. I never expected we’d end up in the same house … well, castle.”

“And now that we have?”

“I still think you’re the prettiest girl I know, and now I’ve had time to confirm your kindness and your courage. If you don’t want this to go anywhere, tell me, and it won’t, but that will be your choice, not mine.”

“You really think that about me?”

He looked into her eyes. “I don’t lie to you.”

“No, you don’t. You never have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has taken me ages to get this chapter up, so thanks for your patience. I will be updating more regularly now that we're getting back to regularly scheduled life.  
> Président Capet of France and Prime Minister Guilford of the UK are named for actual historical characters, but I have twisted history into knots here because those characters would never have supported a revolutionary action like the Movement. Of course, I've also put the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel on the side of the revolutionaries, so my AU is sort of "the world turned upside down."  
> You've got some information now about who Blake's liaison is, and you'll hear more about Frank Marion as the story goes on. If you've read my other stories, you know who Ginger is, but if not, you can probably figure it out.  
> This story will probably have a fairly narrow audience, so many thanks for comments and kudos so far. If you're new to this AU, let me know, and tell me how you like it. If you've been with us for a while -- hey, Danny's growing up, and this is going to be more of a love story than I thought. There will still be plenty of action, though.  
> I hope 2019 is a great year for all of you! XOXOXO


	6. I’m by Her Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny practices some new skills with Patty's help. Talking about backstories with the Circle brings back memories. Patty shares something.

“Come on,” he said, holding her hand. “Let’s go sit down.” He led her to the sitting room and stood there surveying the furniture. “Not the couch.”

“Why?”

He smiled down at her. “I want to practice some more, and I think the only way this is going to work is if you sit on my lap.”

She had to laugh. He was right. He picked her up as he had the other day, but instead of spinning her around, he settled into the soft upholstered chair and kept his arms around her. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt after his shower, and so her face was against his skin, and without even thinking about it, she kissed his collarbone, and he tightened his arms around her.

“Now, about that practice …” he said. “You’ll help me out, right?”

She felt a little hesitant. “Sure, but … you were doing okay, you know.”

He shook his head. “Nobody’s very good at anything the first time they try it.” He couldn’t help breaking into a grin, looking down at her, this beautiful girl in his arms. “Sweetheart, you know me. If I do something, I want to be the best at it.”

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, thinking of all the implications of what he was saying. For now, though … “Okay, then, let’s get the practice session started.” She slid her arms around his neck and his lips were on hers.

He wasn’t in a rush, thank God, and he didn’t smash his mouth against hers, the way a lot of teenage boys did. In fact he seemed to wait for her response to each movement that he made. She felt his tongue, soft and warm, but he waited for her lips to part before he slipped it into her mouth. Points for that, she thought, and then she stopped really thinking about it as he slowly explored her mouth, first her tongue, as they tasted each other, but then everywhere, and as he gently licked the back of her bottom lip, she caught her breath.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she responded. “More than okay. Really good.”

He went back to what he’d been doing, cradling her head in his hand to hold her in place. She moved one hand away from his neck and scraped her fingernails down his spine. He shuddered against her and gasped, “Fuck, Patty, do that again.”

She did, and he held her tighter and his mouth went to her neck. She arched toward him, and his mouth was warm along her jaw, below her ear, on her throat. “Is that okay?” he asked.

“God, Danny, it’s all okay. It’s wonderful.”

His right hand still held her head, and his left hand was at her waist. He slid it under the hem of her pajama top, and kept it right there, not moving, as her heart beat faster. “Is it all right if I touch you?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please. Please touch me.”

He put the palm of his hand against her skin just above her waist and kept it there for a minute, and then began stroking her with his fingertips. His touch was light and warm, both relaxing and arousing. “Oh, God, that feels so good,” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand moved from her midriff to her back, keeping up the same movement, just touching her across her shoulder blades, down her spine, back around to her front again. She want him to go higher and touch her breasts, but she didn’t want to pressure him. She couldn’t prevent her body from responding, though, and she was pressed as close to him as she could be. He continued, using his whole hand now, so that his warm palm slid across her skin.

“Still good?”

“Really good.”

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right?”

“I don’t want you to stop.’

“Good, because I want to touch you forever.”

That sounded like a wonderful way to spend the next sixty years or so. He brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her softly but deeply as he stroked her, until she felt like she was melting. Finally he moved his hand up, stopping just as his fingertip touched the swell of her breast. She didn’t give him time to ask. “Yes,” she whispered breathlessly. “Please.”

“Help me out,” he said, and she looked up at him.

He didn’t look nervous, exactly, just wary. She put her hand over his and guided him. He took in a breath as his fingers curled around her, and his mouth went back to hers, then to her ear, and he murmured, “So soft.”

He moved his fingers, stroking her gently, and she arched up toward him. “You can … squeeze a little.”

He did, and she moaned because it felt so good. The sound sent his heart pounding, and he did it again, then moved his hand to her other breast for a while, and then slid it away and out from under her top and lifted her up, holding her tight against him. He buried his face in her hair and kissed her softly. “Maybe that’s enough practice for now,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, trying not to feel disappointed.

“Give you time. Give us time.”

“Are you sorry?”

“No. _God,_ no. I would love to keep practicing all night, maybe learn some new skills, but …”

“But what?”

“We have to think about it. For Gabriel’s sake, if not our own.”

He was right. “Figure out where we’re going, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded reluctantly. “Sometimes I hate that you’re so smart.”

He shook his head. “Stop. If I was really smart, I would have found a way to talk about it before anything happened.”

“I don’t mind that we didn’t talk. Anyway, I know you, Danny. I know what kind of person you are. It’s not like dating somebody and having to get to know them.”

“I know, but we still need to talk about things.”

“All right, I understand, and I know you’re right, but …”

“What?’

“It was so _good._ Are you saying we shouldn’t do this again until we’ve discussed everything?”

“Oh, hell, no.” He smiled at her, his eyes warm. “I think that we should set aside a certain amount of practice time every day. We’ll spend some time talking about goals and strategy, and then some time practicing skills. It’s just like basketball – or forgery.”

She giggled. “You are crazy. Basketball? Really?”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I was making an analogy.” He looked down at her, her brown eyes wide, her lips a little swollen after all the kissing, her hair a mess. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. His arms tightened around her again, and then he stood up, still holding her, and put her down in the chair. He crossed the room and sat on the couch, wondering if he was doing the right thing, hoping he was. He felt suddenly bereft without her warm softness in his arms.

“Okay,” he said. He leaned forward, clasped his hands between his knees. “What are we going to do this week?”

“We have the next set of cargo manifests to finish up.”

“Right. And I need to talk to Blake about another set of IDs. They only have one each, and I don’t know what they’ve done about backstories. Nobody can write backstories like Alex, but we’ve got to have something.”

She nodded, doing her best to follow his lead. “I have an appointment with Dr. Cloutier on Tuesday, my one-year check-up since having Gabriel. It’s routine.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“You can if you want, but it’s nothing but an exam and a Pap test.”

“Then maybe Gabriel and I will stay home and play with his new train set.”

“That might be a good idea. Are we really going to get all the pieces that are available?”

“Eventually.” He hesitated for a minute, then said, “I thought maybe we could set it up in the room next to yours, start making that into a playroom now.”

The room had a door into Patty’s room, but it didn’t have its own bathroom. They thought maybe it had once been a sitting room like the one they used, but now it was mostly empty, except for a wall of bookshelves, some old pieces of furniture, and a few boxes.

She wasn’t sure where he was going with the idea. “So that would be Gabriel’s bedroom eventually?”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “No. Your room would be Gabriel’s bedroom eventually, if you think you might want to move across the hall at some point.”

Her heart beat faster, but she kept her composure. “I think I might want to do that.”

“At some point.”

“Right.”

“Maybe tomorrow we can start organizing the playroom then. I’ll check with Julien about the furniture and the boxes.”

“It might be fun. Gabriel can help.”

*          *          *          *          *

Daniel ran in the morning, ran harder and farther than he did most days, trying to focus. _Take your time,_ his brain was telling him. _Be sure she feels the same way you do. Have some sort of plan._ In principle, he agreed with his brain. It was his body that he was having trouble with.

Julien took a look around the room next to Martine’s and shrugged. “If the furniture’s usable, you’re welcome to it. As for what’s in the boxes, God only knows. Just let me know if you find any good jewelry or letters from important people.”

Danny smiled. “I promise.”

“I’ll tell Josette to send Anne-Louise or Claudine up to dust and sweep before you get started.” They were the women who came in two or three times a week to help Josette with the housekeeping. It had been hard for both Daniel and Martine to get used to the idea of having other people clean their rooms, but Julien pointed out that when Gilbert was a child, there had been a staff of twenty to care for the castle and the grounds, and besides, Gilbert was paying all the household employees far more than they would earn in most places. They weren’t surprised about that.

While Anne-Louise was attacking the dust with a vacuum cleaner and mop, Daniel texted Blake about all of them getting together. He wanted to see what kind of backstories they had and what would be needed in the way of additional IDs.

 _Weren’t we just all there for your kid’s birthday party?_ Blake texted back, being deliberately obtuse.

_Let’s have a grownup evening. No balloons._

_Wine?_

_Mais bien sûr._

_Bon alors, jeudi soir vous convient?_

_Vers 21h?_

_D’accord._

Thursday at nine, and he’d choose a couple of bottles of wine from the well-stocked cellar. He rolled his shoulders restlessly, tapping a finger on his phone screen. Sometimes all this luxury was hard to take when he knew his friends back home were hiding out somewhere, probably struggling just to get enough food. And now they had Angelica and Eliza’s baby sister with them too. He tried to imagine what it would be like to go underground in – what? Maybe an abandoned house somewhere? What if they had to do that and take Gabri with them? Katie Schuyler was only a few months older than Gabriel. _Fuck President King. Fuck the Greaters._ He wanted to go home and fight instead of waiting here, trying to be patient.

“Hey,” Martine said softly from the doorway, and he looked up and smiled.

He crossed the few steps to her and took her in his arms. “One kiss,” he said, “just for hello. It’s not official practice time.”

She laughed against his mouth and he slid his hand into her hair and, yeah, there was never going to be a time when one kiss was enough. A few minutes later, his lips were on her neck, and then her ear, and he found out that if he sucked on her earlobe, she shivered and made a noise that went directly to his groin.

“You like that?” he whispered.

“Yes.” He could hear her breathing faster.

“I want to do things you like.”

“I like everything you do.”

Reluctantly, he pulled back. “More practice later?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You do not need practice. Everything John and Alex said about you being a fast learner was a complete understatement.”

He smiled. “Practice every night at eight-thirty? Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

“We’ll have to change Thursday’s practice time. Blake and Maggie and everybody will be here at nine so we can talk about backstories and IDs.”

She nodded, looking at him thoughtfully. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. No.” He ran his hand over his face. “Just thinking of everybody at home while we live here in a castle. It’s a little hard not to feel guilty.”

“I know,” she said. “Me too.”

“I was thinking about the baby Schuyler sister. What if we had to go into hiding and take Gabriel?”

“I think of it every day,” she told him, taking his hand. “I pray for them every day. You know why we’re here, not there. Alex told you.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel useless some days.”

“You are never, ever useless. Come on. Lunch is ready, and I left Gabri helping Josette put the napkins on the table.”

*          *          *          *          *

Blake and Maggie had worked out backstories for everyone, but they were nothing like as detailed as the ones Alex had prepared.

“Look,” Daniel said, surveying the room from his seat on the couch, “I don’t want to be a pain in the ass, but you have to be able to respond if you’re questioned. Anybody want to volunteer to be my subject?”

Aiden raised his hand. “Sure, I will.”

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“Alain Benoit.”

“Where were you born?”

“Lyon.”

“What hospital?”

“Uh, Clinique Fernand.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“Your mother’s name?”

“Muriel.”

“Muriel Benoit?”

“Yes.”

“Is that her maiden name or her married name?”

“Uh, her married name.”

“What’s her maiden name?”

He could see Aiden getting flustered, knew he didn’t have the information at hand, but he kept going. “Her full maiden name, including middle names.”

“Muriel Claire Hélène … Berger.”

Daniel made the time-out sign and they all looked at him blankly. He sighed. “Time out. It’s an American football sign.”

“Are we supposed to know that?” Aiden asked, a little defensively.

“No. In fact if you did, that would be a little suspicious. I’m interrupting the conversation because I want to review some things you told me, but you’d all better be fully aware that claiming to interrupt a conversation can be a way to get you off your guard.”

“Shit,” Blake muttered. “You might be doing this to get us to reveal information.”

“Right,” Daniel nodded. “How do you deal with that?”

“We don’t change the information,” Roland said.

“Exactly. You give me the same information every time. That means you not only have to know your own, you have to know everybody else’s. If Aiden and Louise are posing as a couple, they’d obviously know things about each other. Everything has to be consistent.”

“I just made up my mother’s middle names,” Aiden admitted.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “I could tell. Another thing, is there a record of the birth of Alain Benoit at the Clinique Fernand in Lyon?”

Blake shook his head. “No. How would we do that?”

“There are a few possibilities. You can hack into the records and create a birth record for Alain Benoit on the appropriate date, or you make sure Alain was born somewhere where records might have been destroyed or would be hard to get. Somebody should be searching news archive sites for locations where fires or floods destroyed birth, death, and marriage records. Then we use those locations as places of birth, even if they’re distant. Let’s say you were born in Damascus while your father was working there, and then your record of birth was destroyed in the Syrian civil war.”

Blake was nodding. “I see what you’re saying. We need to start from the ground up.”

“Yeah. Everything has to be verifiable, because sooner or later, somebody will try to verify it.” He leaned back in his seat. “Look, it may not be urgent here. President Capet is sympathetic to the Movement, so it’s unlikely anybody in France is going to be checking on you. But when you take that boat to Charleston, you can believe that at any moment, a team of Greaters could surround you and start asking you questions. You have to be prepared.”

Maggie looked from Daniel to Martine and back. “Were you …?”

Martine answered before he had a chance. “Yeah, and even if you give all the right answers, you might still get beaten up or killed.”

Danny looked at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she kept talking. “You have to believe whole-heartedly in what you’re doing. You have to know every minute what could happen.” Without turning her head, she reached for Danny’s hand and held onto it. “We were all hurt one time or another. Some of our friends died. We knew every single day that we might not get another day. It’s not easy living like that.”

The room was dead silent for a few minutes, then Suzanne ventured a question. “Is there anything you can tell us about … about how those things happened to you?”

Daniel shook his head. “We can’t be specific about our own experiences because you still don’t know who we really are. You don’t know our real names and we’re keeping it that way because you can’t reveal what you don’t know. We can maybe tell you something general.” He held Martine’s hand a little tighter. “We can tell you about an attack on a church.”

“A church?” Louise gasped.

“There was a concert in a church,” Martine said. “Families were there with children and old people.”

“We were armed.” Daniel continued. “At least, some of us were. If we hadn’t been, it would have been a massacre. As it was, nine people died, a lot more were injured.” The memory washed over him: Gil, incredibly composed, patiently pulling slivers of glass out of the arm of a five-year-old, telling her stories about Joan of Arc as he did it; old Mr. Weathers, nearly eighty, his shirt soaked with blood; Herc and Patty getting everybody to hospitals, writing down all the names; John and Ben scrubbing the blood-soaked floor with disinfectant. He told them what he could without naming names or being specific, told them how the stained-glass windows had splintered into deadly shards, how a young Sunday-school teacher had bled out before anyone could get to her, how a Movement member had been shot in the thigh and had spent weeks in a wheelchair, how the pastor had kept right on having services in the church with the shattered windows boarded up, because it was their church and nobody was going to chase them out of it. “That’s what it’s like there,” he finished. “That’s what we lived with every day. We knew there might be trouble that night – that’s why we had guns – but we didn’t know if we’d make it out or not.”

“You were both there when that happened?” Maggie asked softly.

“Yeah,” Martine responded. “We were both there, and so were a lot of people we cared about.”

 _Nat,_ Danny thought. _Nat had sung in the concert._ But he had shot from the windows with the rest of them, and Patty had kept the written records so they’d know where everyone was, and they’d barely looked at each other until it was over. Gil had sent Deb off to the hospital, not sure if she’d survive or not, while he stayed at the church and helped the injured. Personal concerns came second. Could he still say that now? What would he do if Patty or Gabriel was in danger?

He took a deep breath and tried to smile. “Okay, kids, here’s your homework. Who’s best at research?”

They all looked around and then, “Probably me,” Maggie said.

“Okay, I want you to find at least five locations, preferably in France for most of you and in the UK for Blake, where birth records are missing or damaged in some way. If we have to, we’ll look at other countries, but let’s try to keep it as simple as possible. Who’s the most creative story-teller?”

“Oh, that’s definitely Blake,” Aiden said, “if by _creative story-teller_ , you mean _accomplished liar._ ”

“I do, as a matter of fact …”

“Thanks so much,” Blake put in sarcastically.

“I need to know how all of you met. It has to be believable but unverifiable. You can tell me you picked up Maggie in a bar, but not that you were in the same college class because class enrollments can be checked.”

“You did _not_ pick me up in a bar,” Maggie told him.

“Everybody else, I want tons of autobiographical information. Antoine, I know you were in the Army, so you can give yourself a similar background, but maybe police training rather than military. Police records are easier to fake. The false you has to be enough like the real you that you can be convincing, but still can’t be you. Does that make sense?”

They nodded, understanding what he was saying. “We have a lot of work to do,” Roland commented.

“Yeah, you do, but this work may well save your life or somebody else’s, so it’s worth it.”

*          *          *          *          *

It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time they went upstairs. “Tired?” he asked her when they got to the top of the stairs.

“Not very.” She smiled up at him. “Were you thinking of skipping practice?”

“I was thinking of asking you if you were too tired to practice …”

“I’m not.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” The hour or so a day they were spending alone together seemed like no time at all. He wanted hours and hours with her, days with her, wanted to have her in his arms every minute. He took hold of her hand now and looked down into her beautiful eyes. “Patty, sweetheart, I want to say something.”

“Okay,” she responded, puzzled, but willing to hear him out.

“I want you to know that I would bring Nat back for you if I could,” he said. Talking about things tonight had made him think of Nat, and he looked at Nat’s girl now with his heart in his eyes.

She put her arms around his waist and held onto him. “I know. Of course you would. Anybody would, but it doesn’t work like that.”

He stroked her hair, running his fingers through the soft strands. “Nobody should have to go through what you went through.”

She was quiet for a minute, then she said, “No, but there have been wars forever. When you think about the millions and millions of people who have died in wars, and all the people who loved them, it seems like more of the human race has been touched by it than not.”

She was right about that. They’d all been affected by the loss of someone they cared about, and none of them would ever be the same. _War is hell,_ General Sherman had said, and he was right. That was a much more honest statement that all the romantic bullshit about _dulce et decorum est._ His arms tightened around her. “I just wish you hadn’t been hurt the way you were.”

“I know, me too. What is it John says, though? The past is past. There’s nowhere to go but forward.” She shifted position a little, not moving away from him, but turning so that she could look up into his face. “Did you know I was in love with John before I met Nat?”

“Were you really?”

“Yeah, it didn’t work out.” She smiled. “Of course it didn’t, but the night I realized that it was hopeless, Gil walked me home and talked to me. He helped me deal with it. He’s a romantic at heart.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Gil? Okay, if you say so. All I know is he’s an atheist who’s good with medical stuff and can kneecap a guy with one bullet at a hundred yards.”

“Well, yeah, that’s how we think of him, but he believes in true love. He’s absolutely positive that he’ll find the person he’s meant to be with.”

That was a side of Gil he hadn’t seen. “Like a soulmate thing?”

“Not exactly. He told me …” she hesitated, remembering, wanting to get the words right. _“People are who they are. They love who they love. All of us, any of us, we are lucky to find love. If we are that lucky, we take love where we find it.”_

He understood. “So if we’re lucky enough to find love, we shouldn’t walk away from it. I think he’s right, and, believe me, I have no intention of walking away. But I’ll always feel bad that Nat got cheated out of a life with you.”

“Me too,” she said honestly, “but he’d hate for me to be a martyr. I can almost hear him say _Go be happy, girl.”_

He smiled. “He would say that, wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah.” She hesitated, and then, “He did. I want to show you something.” She took his hand and led him into her room, where she opened a drawer of her dresser. She reached all the way to the back, and took out a small bundle of letters tied together with pink ribbon. “I wasn’t supposed to keep these. Gil told me to shred them, but I couldn’t. It was all I had left of him.”

He held her, remembering how she and Nat had joked about having to write paper letters when phone registrations were tightened. There was something to be said for a letter on paper that you could hold in your hand. She removed the top letter. “I don’t know when he wrote this, sometime at the end of the summer, I think, right after we found out I was pregnant. He gave it to Gil to hold for me in case something happened … and then something happened.” She handed it to him.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She nodded. “He’d want you to read it.”

He unfolded the letter, seeing from the creases that it had been opened and refolded many times. Nat’s handwriting was small, but clear and easy to read.

_My dear, beautiful girl,_

_Ben’s in the other room talking to Alex about things, so I have a few minutes alone to think about you without him interrupting. I love thinking about you. I love remembering time I’ve spent with you, going back over conversations, editing what I said to make me sound smarter or wittier or cooler. It still amazes me that you love me even with unedited conversations. I can’t wait until the next time I see you, whenever that may be._

_I want to say something now because Ben has been saying that things aren’t going as well as we’d hoped, and there’s no way to know what might happen. It’s not like I’m having any kind of premonition or anything like that, it’s just that we never know, right? Like Alex says, nothing is promised. So I want to tell you that no matter what, I am so, so grateful for what we have. I hope we have another seventy years together, but if we only have seventy days, then I’m still grateful for it. It’s so good to be with you, girl, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. If something happens that prevents us from getting those seventy years, then I want you to be grateful for what we had, but go forward. You’re strong and brave, and you’ll be an amazing mom. Tell the baby about me, tell him how much fun we had. Tell him how much we loved each other and that he came from that love. And then, go be happy again. If you fall in love again, it won’t be because you’ve forgotten me. It will be because you remember loving me, and you deserve to be loved again the way I love you._

_Of course I hope you never see this letter, but if you do, think of me, and then go be happy, girl._

_All my love,_

_Nat_

Danny wiped the tears off his face. “Ah, Patty, it breaks my heart.”

“I know, mine too, but he’s right. I’ll always be grateful for what I had with him, and because I was happy with him, I want that kind of happiness again. It’s what I feel with you now.”

“I’m not like Nat,” he said.

“No, you’re not. You’re you, and you’re amazing.” She smiled. “Anyway, Nat would be glad it’s you.”

“Really?”

“Really. He trusted you completely.”

 _You can still trust me,_ he promised Nat silently. _I’ll do my best to make her happy, and I’ll take care of your son. I love them both._ He kissed her softly, cradling her head in his hand. She’d been Nat’s girl and she had loved him, but it wasn’t as if Nat stood between them. He was part of their history together, and he was part of the little boy they both loved, so there would always be a place for him in their relationship.

She put the letter back in the drawer, and he said, “I don’t want to go to the sitting room.”

She frowned. “No?”

“No. Come to bed with me …” He put his hand up quickly. “No, not … come sleep with me. We’ll leave the doors open so we can hear Gabri if he wakes up.” He pulled her close to him, bent down and kissed her. “An hour’s not enough, sweetheart, I want to hold you all night.

“Yes,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at what point will these two have all the talking done? Or is Danny maybe stalling because he's a little more nervous than he lets on? We'll see.  
> Blake and the rest of the Circle are having a hard time relating to the reality of what Danny and Patty have lived through. Will that change?  
> Thanks many times for kudos, comments, and positive thoughts. I love to hear from you.


	7. What I Wish I’d Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny works on creating new identities for everyone in the Circle. Memories remind him that they need to be vigilant. Danny and Patty continue their conversations and other activities. A decision is made.

As far as he could remember, he had never in his life shared a bed with someone else. Depending on how his mom’s financial situation was going, sometimes he’d had a bed, sometimes the couch, but he’d always had it to himself.

This was all new and unfamiliar territory, and, characteristically, he wanted to figure it out first. “Which side?” he asked.

She just looked up at him. “I don’t care.”

“Closer to the door or closer to the bathroom?”

“Really, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make any difference. Whatever you want.”

“Then I’m sleeping on the side closer to the door, and you’re on the side closer to the bathroom.”

“Fine,” she agreed, humoring him. “Any reason for that?”

“Of course. I’m right-handed.”

“Okay, and?”

He bent down, smiling, and whispered, “If you’re on my left, it will be so much easier to use my right hand to touch you.”

“ _God,_ Danny,” she gasped, feeling the heat course through her. “How do you even think that way?”

“I plan ahead.”

“You are … not like most people.” She took a step away from him. “So, logistically now, should I go get my pajamas out of my room?”

“Or you could wear mine, since you’re already here. I have some pajama shorts that you won’t trip over.”

“Thank you. They still might be a little big.”

He opened a dresser drawer and took out a pair of soft gray sleep shorts. “Drawstring waist, no problem,” he told her, and handed them to her with a matching tee shirt.

“I’ll just go put these on in the bathroom. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

“Sure. Top drawer. If you don’t mind, I’ll brush my teeth first, and then you can have the bathroom.”

“Of course,” she said, almost awed, but on the verge of laughter too, because it was all so _Danny_.

While she was in the bathroom, he put on a pair of flannel sleep pants but didn’t bother with a shirt. At some point he’d have to tell her that he didn’t usually bother with the sleep pants either, but not tonight. They got into bed a little awkwardly, and he left the bedside light on so he could see her. “C’mere,” he said, and pulled her close, and nothing had ever felt better than having her tight against him like this.

He’d been completely correct that he’d be able to use his right hand more easily this way, she thought. Right now, he had it on the back of her head, his fingers playing in her hair as he kissed her. He went from her mouth to her jaw to her ear and played with her earlobe, sucking it, then holding it in his teeth, not quite biting. She let out a whimper, but by now he knew that meant it felt good, so he did it again, and then did the same thing on the other side. It made her squirm and she pressed into him, feeling how hard he was. “Danny,” she whispered.

“Hm?’ he responded, his mouth on her throat.

“What you’re doing -- I’m going to get your shorts all wet.”

“Ah, fuck, sweetheart … I love that.” He took his hand out of her hair and slid it down to her waist, then up under her tee shirt so that he could stroke her bare skin. “I’ll wear them tomorrow.”

“Oh, _God,_ Danny …” She rubbed against him and felt his response. “Tell me again why we’re waiting because I don’t know if I can stand this much longer.”

“There’s so much we haven’t talked about …”

“I don’t want to talk anymore.”

“Okay, no more talking now. We’ll talk in the morning. Just let me hold you now.”

She made a frustrated little noise, but rolled to her side and spooned up against him. He wrapped his arms around her, and they found that they fit together perfectly, her head on his arm, and his lips just touching her neck. Danny reached down and pulled the covers up over them, tucked them in around her. His right hand was just above her waist, flat against her warm bare skin. He kissed the back of her neck and inhaled the scent of her hair. “I never thought I’d be this lucky,” he whispered.

She took a long, deep breath, letting herself relax and go limp and pliant against him. “I love the way you hold me,” she murmured.

He slid his lips across the back of her neck again. “I will hold you forever.”

*          *          *          *          *

Maggie had done a great job with the research and had found four towns in France where vital records had been damaged, two by fire, one by a flood, and one by random vandalism committed by some drunk teenagers. She’d also located a coastal town in the UK where a couple of buildings had been destroyed when a severe storm caused the sea wall to collapse and waves crashed in at high tide. There were all plausible and had occurred during the right time frame so he could set up birth records for everyone in the Circle. Unfortunately, Maggie had emailed the information to him, but he destroyed everything on his end as soon as he’d put it on a flash drive, and called Maggie right away.

“Hey, listen,” he’d said. “The geographical data you just sent me? You need to delete it and empty the trash, and we’ll talk about another transfer method, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” she responded, sounding shaken. “I’m sorry, I didn’t …”

“It’s probably fine,” he broke in before she could say anything else. “We can do it differently next time.”

It was frustrating that the group here didn’t have security protocols set up. That was something else he’d have to take charge of. He also needed somebody who could hack in the way John or Alex could. He could do that himself, but he couldn’t do everything. He was struck with admiration at how Alex and John had handled everything seamlessly, managing security and identities, knowing everyone’s strengths so they could send Angelica out to play the role of some spoiled rich Have princess or get Gil on a roof to take out a couple of Greaters. Of course, they’d all been friends before King became President, so they already knew each other. Here, he was playing catch up. Thank God Patty was so quick at picking up the forgery skills. They were going to need to produce passports, drivers’ licenses, birth certificates, and other ordinary paperwork for seven people. He’d need pictures, and he’d have to get a variety of them. It wouldn’t do to use the same photo for passport, driver’s license, and school ID.

“So,” he said to Martine, “we need to have everybody over and do a massive photo shoot. Different clothes, different hairstyles, all that.”

“Like you did for me,” she smiled. There had been a time when her hair was long and dark, and she dressed in soft pastels.

“Yeah, when Angelica cut your hair.” He tousled it with his fingers. “I like it better this way.”

“Me, too, now that I’m used to it. It was a bit of an adjustment becoming a blond.”

“You’re a gorgeous blond, but you were also a very pretty brunet. This is convenient, though, since Gabriel is blond.” He looked down at her, still not used to the idea that they were together. He bent to kiss her, and then kissed her again, and she pulled back, laughing.

“Practice time isn’t until eight thirty,” she reminded him. “And we’re talking first, before we get distracted.”

He sighed. “That will be difficult.”

“It always is.”

Once they had spent the night in the same bed, there was no going back to sleeping apart. They’d managed to get some talking done only by staying on opposite sides of the sitting room and not touching one another until they had discussed a topic thoroughly. Then they went to bed, spending the nights kissing and touching until they fell asleep tangled together. Danny had a list of topics that still had to be reviewed, of course, but they were near the end of the list. They’d talked about going back to school if the opportunity came up, about possible careers when the Movement had secured free elections – they always focused on that being the outcome, but they’d also talked about going back to New York if the Second Insurrection failed. Danny had suggested that if that were the case, Patty should stay in France with Gabriel, but she’d flatly refused.

“If you go, we go,” she told him. “If you think you can be tricky and go by yourself without telling me …” He flushed, because he’d considered that, and she saw it. “Yeah, well, you’d get there ahead of us, but we’d be on the next plane, or ship or whatever, because you and I are both in this, and where we are, Gabriel is.” Her voice was fierce, and he didn’t argue. She watched his face and blew out an impatient breath. “I am not some fragile little flower that you have to protect,” she snapped, and he started to laugh, crossing the room in a few long strides to gather her up in his arms.

“No, you are not,” he agreed, kissing her neck. “You are a badass warrior, and I am scared of you.”

She wrapped both arms and both legs around him as he picked her up, still laughing. “You’d better be,” she told him, her mouth on his.

*          *          *          *          *

Daniel decided that everyone should come to Chavaniac on Sunday so that he could take an assortment of pictures, so he suggested to Julien that they should invite friends over for a cookout.

Julien frowned. _“C’est quoi, un cookout?”_

Daniel waved vaguely. _“On fait griller des hamburgers en plein air, on mange …”_ He didn’t know a lot about cooking in any language.

_“Ah, un barbecue!”_

“Maybe.” He went to get Martine who told him that she and Josette would handle the food, and he could invite the guests and take the pictures.

“Are you going to tell them to bring a change of clothes for the photos?” she asked.

“No, I don’t want to get into that on the phone, and I’m just doing head shots, so they can easily use a few of our things.”

“Yeah, just a change of shirt and a curling iron, and everybody can look different. Oh, and I still have those glasses you gave me if anybody wants to use them.”

When she had gone into hiding at Saint Dismas, she was a long-haired brunet, wearing a pale blue outfit. She had exited as a blond with short wispy hair, dressed in dramatic red and black, with round black-rimmed glasses.

“That might be good. I should order some more of those, different styles.”

“How many online identities do you have now?” she asked.

“Three, but they’re all individuals. I was thinking I ought to set up something like an amateur theatrical company. Any strange items I buy can be explained as play props or costumes.”

“That’s a really good idea. Let’s get on it as soon as we get the new IDs done. Maybe we can store some things in that furniture in the playroom. We need to go through it so we can set up Gabri’s train.”

“We have a lot to do, don’t we?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Yeah, we do. We should get busy on the playroom now so that we’re done before eight-thirty.”

*          *          *          *          *

Having a cookout had seemed like a good idea, but as it turned out, there was no outdoor grill at the castle. It had only been in the last decade or so that anybody in the family ventured into the kitchen. Flipping burgers on the patio was definitely out of their experience. Josette had suggested that she prepare an ordinary dinner that they could eat outside in the warm weather. It seemed like a good compromise, even when Josette insisted that the outdoor table be covered with a white tablecloth and set with real dishes and cutlery.

“We are way too casual to be French,” Daniel said. He wasn’t joking. “That’s the sort of thing that could trip us up, where we assume that everyday activities are the same everywhere.”

“Probably lots of French people cook on outdoor grills and use paper plates,” Martine reassured him. “It’s just that we live in a castle and life here is different.”

“Maybe. I need to think things through, though.”

She put her hands on his shoulders. “Danny, my love, it’s not all on you. I could have checked, or Maggie could have mentioned it. It’s not all your responsibility.”

He looked down at her somberly. “Yes, it is,” he said. “I can never forget that.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m sharing it. You can’t stop me.”

That brought a faint smile to his face. “Will you call me your love again?”

She put her hands on the back of his neck and pulled him down toward her. “Kiss me, my love.”

He did, and then quite a few minutes later, he said, “This is why we have trouble getting things done.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss his chin and laughed. “Fine, what’s next?”

“Can you get some heavy-duty tape out of the library and help me tape a sheet to the wall in the sitting room upstairs? The wall opposite the window will have the best light. Then we’ll get some clothes out so that we can get a good assortment of pictures.”

Gabriel, at least, thought that the picture-taking session was great fun. He didn’t quite understand why all the grown-ups were going back and forth, changing clothes, and standing in front of a sheet on the wall, but he did know that there were enough people around that he could get some of them to come see his train in the playroom. “Twen!” he said proudly, pointing, and showed them how he could move it along the track. He was a little disappointed when Papa was finished with his project and it was time to go downstairs, but he was excited to find that they were all going to eat dinner outside, which proved to him once again that his Maman and Papa could think up amazing adventures. As soon as finished eating his dinner, he got involved in chasing a squirrel around on the grass, and by the time Martine took him upstairs, he was falling asleep in her arms.

The adults had coffee in the library, and Daniel reviewed what the next step was. “I have about thirty pictures, so I’ll edit them down to three for each of you – passport, driver’s license, and _carte d’identité_. Blake, since you’re still a British subject, no _carte d’identité_ for you, so you’ll just get two, at least for now. I’m also working on your backstories, using the autobiographical information you’ve given me and the research that Maggie did.” He looked up and smiled as Martine came into the room and helped herself to a cup of coffee, then continued. “Whatever place of birth you were previously using will be changed to one of those where the records are unreliable.”

“What’s next?” Roland asked.

“Establish your identities. Get an email account in that name, but not with the same provider as your regular email. As soon as possible, we’ll be getting you credit cards, so you can make a few purchases, rent a mailbox, that sort of thing. Not too much activity, but enough so that if that name is investigated, it looks legit.”

“That’s a lot,” Suzanne commented.

“Yeah, it is, and as soon as we can, there will be another identity set up for each of you in case the first one gets blown for some reason. The other thing – after Maggie finished her research, she sent me all the information by email.” He glanced over at Maggie, who was red with embarrassment. “Sorry, Maggie, but we have to deal with it. It’s probably fine, we both deleted everything within minutes, and I don’t really think anybody is monitoring our email right now. Still, it’s important to develop the right habits. That means nothing goes by email or phone that we don’t want to be made public. We’ll be getting secondary phones soon, too. Some of the dark websites I used in New York are still in operation. I can program the phones once they’re here. We’ll all still use our regular phones for ordinary things, just use the dark phones for Résistance business.”

Blake was looking at him thoughtfully. “You’re ramping things up, aren’t you? Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing, really,” Daniel said, “but have you seen how much TV coverage this Chauvelin guy is getting?”

“Nobody’s taking him seriously,” Aiden scoffed.

“That’s what everybody said about Blodman three years ago. He was a joke – and they were right, he was. It was King we should have been watching.”

“But there was no way anybody could have known that Blodman would have a stroke and King would become President in your country,” Louise pointed out.

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t for a minute think that Blodman had a stroke, and neither does anybody else I know. I also don’t believe that half a dozen judges who ruled against King in court challenges just coincidentally died in car wrecks, fires, and backyard-pool drownings. And I sure as hell don’t believe that the plane crash that killed the Washington family was an accident.”

There was dead silence in the room. Finally Suzanne spoke. “We watched the funerals on TV. The children … you really believe King had something to do with that?”

“Absolutely. He’s completely without conscience. We should have seen it.”

“Come on,” Blake said. “It’s easy to say now, because everybody’s got twenty-twenty hindsight, but there was no way you could have foreseen it.”

“We should have been watching more carefully,” Daniel insisted stubbornly. “That’s why I think we should be watching Chauvelin right now, before people start taking him seriously. They will, you know. President Capet is doing a decent job, but no administration is perfect, and you’re dealing with some of the same issues here that we were when Blodman was elected – some economic problems, immigration, racism. I guarantee you, Chauvelin will pick a group to scapegoat within the next month.”

“It’s that same old stuff that Plumier ranted about,” Antoine reminded them. “He never got elected.”

“No, he didn’t,” Daniel agreed, “but he came close, and Chauvelin is smoother than Plumier was. We need to be monitoring him all the time.” He looked around the room, wondering if up until now some of them might have felt like kids playing pirate, not comprehending how serious it really was. He had deliberately chosen to remind them of those who had died under King’s administration. President Washington had been respected around the world, and when the private plane carrying him and his wife, their son Parker, and Parker’s wife and two little girls had crashed, the world had grieved for them. There was a difference, though, between a tragic accident and a brutal murder. It was part of Daniel’s job to make sure everyone understood that the Washingtons were murdered.

It wasn’t part of his job to set up an opposing faction to Chauvelin, but he was going to do it anyway. Somebody had to.

It was nearly ten o’clock by the time everyone left and he and Martine went upstairs.

“I’m tired of people cutting in our practice time,” she said.

“You think I should have told them to leave?”

“Knowing you, you probably could have found a tactful way to do it.”

“Or I could just have said that we needed time for a make-out session.”

She refused to be drawn in. “Yeah, that would have been good. I’m sure they would all have understood.”

“Especially when I got to the part about how the whole backstory about our tragic romance was a fabrication.”

She pretended to consider it. “I suppose that might have been awkward.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Hey, you.”

“What?” she asked, smiling up at him.

He didn’t say anything, just bent and kissed her, then picked her up and settled into the chair.

“I thought we were supposed to talk first,” she reminded him.

“It’s late,” he said, his lips on her neck.

“Are we done talking?”

“Maybe we should be.”

Her heart beat faster. “You know that would be okay with me.”

“Mm-hm.” Part of him wanted to just _do_ it, get it over with, lose his virginity, discard his childhood, be a man, all those stupid sexist clichés. She was willing, and he loved her, and what the hell was he waiting for?

Another part of him – the part that fired his intellect and his conscience – insisted that there was a declaration to be made and a promise to be offered first. There was more, but that first. “Okay, then, listen,” he said, pulling away so he could look at her face. “There’s really only one more important thing that I have to say, and that’s that I love you. I love you, and so I don’t want this to be one of those ‘let’s see how it goes’ relationships. I want us to know where we’re going before we start.” He closed his eyes. “I’m saying it all wrong. It sounds like I’m telling you what to do, and that’s not what I mean.”

She kissed his cheek softly. “I understand. You’re talking about making a commitment.”

“Yes.”

“So that no matter what happens, we work together, we look after one another, we don’t let outside things mess us up.”

“Yes,” he said again, almost speechless at her ability to read his mind.

“We put Gabriel first, and we love each other. That’s where everything else starts.”

“How did you …” his throat got tight, and he couldn’t finish.

“Because it’s exactly the same way I feel,” she told him. “Because that’s how I love you.” She reached up and brushed a tear off his face and then snuggled contentedly into his shoulder. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

He hesitated, because this part was difficult. “You know I have kind of a reputation for being a fast learner?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I’ve noticed that you pick up skills very quickly.”

“So far.”

“Right. Are you concerned that you’re suddenly going to turn into a different kind of person?”

She was still smiling, but he wasn’t. “I’ve been called arrogant, and I get that,” he said, “but I try to be honest about what I can do. I’m used to being good at things.”

“And you’ve never been bad at anything that mattered to you?”

He blew out a breath. “Right.”

She brought her mouth so close to his ear that he could feel her lips move. “You’ll do fine.”

“If it weren’t you … if I didn’t love you so much … _damn_ John Laurens, anyway!”

She pulled back again and frowned in confusion. “Why are you mad at John?”

“Because back when I was fifteen, John might have pushed me to … you know, experiment a little. It’s not like I couldn’t have found a girl. But no, he taught me to be a skilled forger instead.”

“John’s your best friend.”

“I know.”

“You really think he should have encouraged you to have sex with random girls?”

He closed his eyes. “Okay, maybe not.”

“Wasn’t it just a couple of weeks ago that you had never kissed a girl?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re pretty good at that now.”

He didn’t quite smile. “You’re sure about that?”

“Let me check,” she said, She put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him in so she could check his skills. The kiss lasted a long time, then, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“So you think I might be able to learn everything else?”

“As long as we get in plenty of practice.”

He finally smiled. “We could do that.”

She looked away for a minute and then said in a different tone, “When I saw Dr. Cloutier last week, she asked what kind of birth control I was using.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, that’s a thing gynecologists ask, you know?”

“Right, I should know that. It just hasn’t come up before.”

“I told her I wanted the implant.”

“Okay. So … uh … when are you getting it?”

“I have it. She did it then.”

He stayed silent. She ran her finger across his jaw and down his neck. “So in case that was a concern …”

“Actually, there are condoms in my nightstand. They were there when I got here, thanks to Gil, no doubt. I’m sure he thought it was something every young man would need.”

She couldn’t help giggling at that. “Oh, Gil. Why am I not surprised?”

“But you’re saying we don’t need them?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Well, that makes it one degree less awkward, I suppose.”

She looked him in the eye. “Danny, stop overthinking this. Everybody’s got a first time, and if it’s awkward, it’s awkward. And then we’ll get better at it. I have a feeling we’re going to get very good at it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We love each other. We’re going to be okay.”

He stood up with her in his arms and carried her down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who is this Chauvelin guy that Danny is concerned about? And a special recognition goes to the person who gets the reference to "Plumier." It's a pun that requires knowledge of French, English, and French politics, so it's pretty obscure, and you probably shouldn't bother chasing it down. I just like to throw these things in from time to time.  
> It looks like things are going well for Danny and Patty. I hope you like them.  
> Thanks always for kudos and comments. I love hearing from you.


	8. I Am Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Patty figure it out. Danny considers the possible need for a safe house. There are more empty rooms in the castle. Gabriel finds a hole in the wall. Patty is afraid of spiders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. I was suffering from a bout of writer's block, but fortunately, it seems to have passed, so here we are. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

They’d been in bed together before, but never without at least some clothes on. Now, lying skin to skin was more than enough to set his heart racing. He wanted to touch her everywhere at once. He couldn’t stop kissing her, and everything he did brought little sounds and movements from her that made him want to do more.

She got her hands on his shoulders and pushed him onto his back. She straddled his hips and then leaned down close to his ear and whispered, “Okay?”

He nodded, hardly able to breathe, and she rubbed herself along his length, and he was pretty sure he was going to die right there. She brought her face back down to kiss him and said, “It feels so good.” Then she got up on her knees and began to lower herself onto him, very slowly, and he grabbed her hips because he had to hold onto something. She was warm and wet and slippery, and she began to move on him. There were no words for how it felt, just that it was a million times better than he had ever imagined it could be. She took his hand from her hip and guided it to where she wanted him to touch her, held her fingers over his to rub in circles.

“Yeah, like that,” she breathed, throwing her head back, and then it was all too much for him, and he came hard and way too fast in a white flashing instant of ecstasy that left him breathless and overwhelmed.

“My God,” he gasped, and she slid down so he could hold her in his arms. “Patty, sweetheart, I didn’t …” He kissed her eyelids and her forehead and her mouth, and then he held her face in his hands. “I wanted to ...”

She smiled. “Oh, Danny, my love, you didn’t think we were done, did you?”

That brought a shout of laughter from him, and he held her tight and asked, “Now what?”

“Just relax,” she said, “just cuddle for a few minutes.” They did, holding one another, kissing and touching.

After a little while, he leaned on his left elbow and put his right hand lightly on her breast. “Tell me what to do.”

“Do whatever you want,” she told him. “Everything’s good.”

“No,” he said his eyes on hers. “Tell me.”

“Just touch me, however you want.”

He didn’t move his hand. “I want to hear you say it.”

She realized what he was doing. All right, she could go along with it. “Put your whole hand on my breast and squeeze it a little.” He did, and she kept talking, holding the eye contact. “Yeah, that’s good. Your thumb should be on the bottom, and your fingers around the top. A little more pressure. More. Could you use both hands, on both of them?”

He shifted position so he could have a hand on each breast. “How’s that?”

“Oh, that’s good.” She licked her lips. “Now take my nipple between your thumb and your finger and play with it.”

“Play with it?”

“Pinch it a little.”

“That doesn’t hurt?”

“I’ll tell you if you hurt me. Do it, please.”

He did, very gently, watching her face, and then more firmly, and at that she closed her eyes, catching her breath. He kept it up, using the rest of his hand to massage each breast, and she arched up toward him.

“Do you want me to put my mouth there?” he asked, his voice husky.

“God, yes.” She looked up at him again. “It feels so good.”

“Tell me what to do with my mouth.”

She was starting to have trouble talking, but he waited until she told him. “Take as much as you can into your mouth. Yeah, like that, more even – yes, that’s good – and then suck – not too hard at first – oh, God, yes, like that – harder.” She stopped talking then and just made sounds, sounds that he wanted to hear more of. He found her nipple with his tongue and flicked it, then pressed it against the roof of his mouth, and she moaned louder. He did the same thing with her other breast, and when he finally stopped and looked at her, she was a mess, her pupils so dilated he could barely see the iris at all, her face flushed, her hair wet with sweat.

“My God, you’re so beautiful,” he told her, kissing her and pulling her to him, soft and warm against his bare chest. He slid his hand between her legs. “I want to touch you here.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

He held her to him with his left arm, his mouth on hers, and slid in one finger, circling, his tongue in her mouth doing the same thing. _So soft and slippery and warm_. She shivered and whimpered. _She likes that._ Two fingers, stroking the inside walls, investigating, noting her reactions. “There?” he asked, as her hips bucked toward him. He pressed the same spot again, and she breathed, “Oh, God!” _She’s getting wetter. So, so slippery. I want to … not yet. How can I get her to moan like that again? Back here, where she showed me. My fingers are all wet now, so I can slide them, go a little faster. Careful. Gently._ She was starting to move in response, making the noises that he loved. _That’s good. What if I put my thumb there to rub it and put two fingers back on that spot and press it at the same time?_ He tried it, and her hips trembled and she choked off what sounded like an exclamation of surprise, so he kept doing it, and she gasped, “Oh, fuck, Danny, what are you …?” He continued because she didn’t tell him to stop, and her breathing got faster, her eyes closed and her lips parted, until a few minutes later, she drew in a long, shaking breath, and her voice crescendoed, almost sobbing “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God ...” She tightened around his fingers and he _felt_ her come, felt those soft wet slippery walls clench around his fingers and spasm over and over, as her hips jerked up and her words were lost in a wail.

He held her tight until she stopped trembling, astonished. He’d had no idea that would happen. It was as if he had suddenly been given a super power.

Her head was on his chest and she was panting. He had both arms around her, rubbing circles on her back, not saying anything because he didn’t know what to say.

Her breathing finally returned to normal, and she said, “Oh, my God, Danny, how did you know how to do that?”

“I didn’t actually know,” he admitted warily. “I was just … I wanted to see what you liked … and … you seemed to like what I was doing, so ... I … kept doing it.”

“I liked it? Yeah, you could say that.” She took in another deep breath and ground herself against him, remembering. “So you were conducting an experiment?”

“Not exactly. More like gathering data.”

She dissolved into laughter. “Okay, first, all that stuff about you being a fast learner was a total understatement. Second, _gathering data?_ That sounds exactly like something Alex Hamilton would say.”

He put his hand over his face. “Oh, shit, it does, doesn’t it? That’s not what I was going for.” He felt himself flushing and was grateful for the dim light. “Maybe I should shut up.”

“No, talk to me. You want me to tell you what I like. Tell me how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.”

“How I’m feeling, seriously?” He looked up at the ceiling far above them. “Like superman. Like the king of the world.” His arms tightened around her. “I didn’t even know that could happen like that.”

“I believe that’s what they call finger-fucking,” she said with dignity, and he laughed out loud again. “Not everybody can pull it off, but you, my love, my amazing, fast-learning boy-wonder genius, you managed to get it right on your first try.”

He kissed her, and then kept kissing her, his mouth soft on hers, till she felt like she could melt into him. She ran her fingers down his chest to his groin, and found him hard again. She put her hand on him, stroking gently. “Ready again so soon?” she asked, biting her lip as she ran her fingers back and forth.

“Because you’re so beautiful,” he told her.

“Because you’re seventeen,” she said, and they both laughed.

“I’m twenty-two,” he argued.

“Liar.”

“I have documents that prove it.”

“Oh, all right, then.”

“Patty, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to stop.” His hand moved from her throat to her breast, his fingers outlining it.

“Ever?”

“Never ever.” He kissed along the same track his fingers had followed and put his mouth on her breast.

“Mmm. Somebody will have to get up with Gabriel in the morning.”

“We’ll take shifts.” Her nipple was hard and he brushed his lips over it, then took it into his mouth, sucking gently, and she moaned. He’d keep doing anything that got that noise from her, but he wanted his fingers inside her again, because that was amazing. He slid two fingers in.

“Oh, God,” she gasped, and her hips twitched.

He wanted to be sure he could find that spot again, see what happened if he pressed it while he was sucking on her breast. _Right there._

Her hips jerked again and the noise she made was louder. She spread her legs wider for him and pulled her knees back, and then she looked right into his eyes and said, “Please get inside me.”

That nearly did him in, but somehow he managed not to fumble it, and he did as she asked, sliding in effortlessly as she lifted her hips to meet him. He remembered where to put his thumb, and then he began to move, and it was easy, way easier than it had been just a short time before. He watched her, her eyes closed and her bottom lip between her teeth. She had her hands twisted in the sheets, holding on tight as if she needed to be anchored. _Yeah, because it’s like flying._

She was whimpering, and he went a little faster, a little deeper, wanting to be as far inside her as he could be, surrounded by her warmth and softness. Her first fluttering tremors took him by surprise, and then she was moaning and shaking under him, and he finished with a shout of triumph.

“You know,” he said, much later, after they’d slept for a little while, “Maybe we didn’t need as much practice as I thought.”

She huffed a laugh against his shoulder. “It’s a good thing I’m too polite to say, ‘I told you so.’”

“It is,” he agreed, nuzzling her neck. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was serious. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“That makes everything easy.” He traced her face with his fingertips and realized that it wasn’t as dark in the room as it had been. “The sun will be up soon.”

“So will Gabriel,” she reminded him.

“I’ll take first shift, so you can sleep in.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. I can get a nap in the afternoon if I need to.” He pulled her close, his face in her hair. “C’mere.” He took a deep breath and then kissed the soft spot right below her ear. “I don’t want to be done yet,” he whispered.

*          *          *          *          *

Martine’s room became Gabriel’s room, with his playroom adjoining, and Daniel’s room became theirs. Julien and Sophie had never asked questions about their relationship, although they knew the true story was not the one they had been telling, and accepted any apparent changes without comment. Then Daniel asked if there was a spare room he could use as a studio to set up his photographic and printing equipment.

“Daniel, please,” Julien said, waving his arm toward the dining room ceiling nearly twenty feet above their heads. “I have lost track of even how many rooms there are. If you find one not in use, help yourself.”

“There’s one on the other side of our sitting room, on the other hall. It may have been a bedroom at one time because there’s a bed headboard in it, and some other furniture, but there’s no bathroom, and I know all the bedrooms have attached baths.”

Julien shook his head. “You’re in the old part of the castle, and when Gilbert’s father had the renovations done, he did not add en suite baths to all the smaller bedrooms. Isn’t there a hall bath on the other side?”

“Honestly, I haven’t checked. We’ve had more space than we needed, but maybe it would be a good idea to explore that corridor. That will be my next rainy-day project.”

“You are welcome to it,” Julien said. “Too much dust for me.”

Julien and Sophie were in the “new” wing of the castle, added in the 1700’s. It had been remodeled when Gil was a child, and then updated again right before Gil left for New York. Julien and Sophie had their own kitchen, and a balcony off their bedroom had a beautiful view of the gardens. In the larger “old” part of the castle, dating from the 1300’s, the stone walls were three feet thick, the windows were small, and there were no balconies. While much of it had been modernized, there were several chilly, dusty, unused rooms along a hall that ran at right angles to the bedroom hall. Daniel was beginning to think about some plans for those empty rooms. He preferred not to share any more than he had to with Julien and Sophie. Although the Résistance had their wholehearted support, they were not involved in its day-to-day activities. For now, at least, it was better for them to maintain plausible deniability.

Even in July, there were some cool, rainy days, so when the next one blew across the mountains to the west, Daniel decided to take advantage of it. “We’re going to explore,” he told Martine and Gabriel.

“Where?” she asked.

“The castle,” he said. “The hall and the rooms that go off that way.” He waved in the direction he meant.

“Sophie said there’s nothing but dust and very old plumbing down there,” she responded less than enthusiastically.

“Well, then, just think of all we can do with it.”

She looked at him questioningly. “What do we need it for?”

“For a printing studio, certainly, but it also occurs to me that those rooms are not quite accessible. You have to know that small hallway is there; otherwise, it looks like our sitting room is the last room in this wing. It might be good to have rooms that are hard to find.”

She didn’t like the way that made her stomach feel. She had had to go into hiding once before, and it was terrifying. How much more frightening would it be with a baby?

He took both her hands. “We’ll probably never need them. This isn’t New York. Still, I don’t like this guy Chauvelin.”

Her eyes were troubled. “You sound like Alex when he used to talk about Blodman.”

“Yeah, well, Alex was right, or at least mostly right. Blodman brought us George King.”

“All right, then, let’s explore and get started on making a secret hideout.” She was trying to keep her tone light, but she knew he wasn’t joking.

From the hall that went past their bedrooms to the sitting room, it looked like there was nothing past the sitting room, but if you went all the way to the end, where there was a small mullioned window, you could see another hall, much narrower, off to the left. The left wall of that corridor was solid stone. The right wall had doors into several small rooms. They entered the first one.

“Okay,” Martine said, “this was probably a bedroom.” There was an old bed frame and headboard, disassembled, leaning up against the wall next to the narrow window. Nearby was a chair with a broken leg and a few old wooden crates.

“Small bedroom,” Daniel commented.

“Servants’ quarters, maybe?” she suggested.

“Oh, that’s probably exactly what this was. That makes sense. If the servants slept along here, they would be available if the Master or Mistress called for a glass of water in the middle of the night.”

“That’s ridiculous. Who would do that?”

He grinned. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask Gil.”

By now Gabriel had made his way across the room and was grabbing at the bed slats leaning against the wall. “Oh, no, you don’t,” Daniel told him, picking him with one hand. “They might fall down on your head.”

Gabriel obligingly pointed to his head.

“Yes,” Daniel agreed, “that head. We don’t want something to go bang on your head.” Gabriel thought that was very funny. “Laugh if you want, kid, but I’m carrying you now.”

“Down,” Gabriel demanded.

Daniel looked over his head at Martine. “Is he arguing with me?”

She nodded. “Yep.”

“He’s one.”

“But really smart for his age. Like someone else I know. We might say he’s one going on five or something like that.”

Daniel crossed the small room in a few steps and pulled her in for a kiss. “You are a smartass, and I love you.”

She smiled up at him. “I love you too.”

Gabriel patted Martine on the cheek. “Down?” he said hopefully.

“No, Papa’s going to carry you for now,” she told him. “Let’s go see what else we can find.”

The next door from the hall led to an almost identical small room, this one completely empty of anything but dust. It had a small fireplace, but it obviously hadn’t been used in many years, and there was no way to tell if the chimney was clear.

The third room was, as Julien had mentioned, a bathroom. Martine looked around doubtfully. “When do you suppose this was last used?”

The very basic fittings seemed to confirm that this would have been a servants’ bathroom. There was a bathtub on the right – no shower – and a small sink and toilet on the left. All were originally white, but now a grimy gray. There was plain white tile halfway up the walls with peeling green paint above it. A badly tarnished mirror hung above the sink.

“I wonder if the plumbing still works,” Daniel mused. After a bit of a struggle, he turned the faucet handle on the sink. It made some gasping noises, spit out a spray of brown liquid, clanked a few times, and then surprisingly, water began to flow. It was rusty at first, but after a few minutes, it ran clear.

“Okay, then,” Daniel said. “We’ve got water.”

Martine raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be too confident.”

“Oh, we’ll get a plumber in to check, but at least we know there’s still a water supply to the room. Nobody has removed the pipes or anything like that.” He looked around the room again. “This was probably installed in the 1920’s or 1930’s. Probably Gil’s great-grandfather’s time.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be pretty if it’s functional.”

“It would be nice to have a shower, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, for sure. We’re going to need a plumber and an electrician that we can trust. Antoine will know somebody. I’d like to keep the knowledge of what we’re doing in this wing contained.”

“Need to know.”

“Yeah.”

“So we get the experts to do what they have to do for safety, but we can do the rest ourselves.”

“The cleaning, you mean?”

“And the painting. If anybody ever has to live here, that hideous green paint would cause them serious psychological harm.”

He looked at the walls. “It’s pretty ugly. Have you ever painted a wall?”

She put her chin up. “As a matter of fact, I have. My mom and I painted our apartment. How about you?”

“Yeah, Tim and I did a lot of the painting when we had the church basement renovated. Saved money, you know.”

“Okay, then, we clean, we paint – what about the fireplace?”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask Pascal to take a look at it. Do chimney sweeps even exist outside of _Mary Poppins?_ ”

“No idea, but Pascal will know. There are probably twenty fireplaces in the castle.”

On the other side of the bathroom, they found two more rooms more or less identical to the first two, the first one containing assorted pieces of worn or broken furniture. By the time they got to the last one, Gabriel was loudly insisting, “Down!” The room was empty, so Daniel put him down and he began to run from the door to the far wall and back again. Daniel was just about to say something when he ran past him and out into the hall, shrieking with delight.

They were both after him in seconds, and he hadn’t gone far. He was at the very end of the hall, poking his finger into a hole where the plaster had fallen away from the wall.

_“Qu’est-ce que tu fais, petit singe?”_ Daniel asked, and Gabriel made monkey noises and giggled. He pulled a piece of plaster off the wall and threw it on the floor.

“Could you maybe not demolish the wall right now?” Martine asked with a sigh.

Gabriel pulled off some more plaster, and Daniel stooped down next to him to discuss the matter. Gabriel got his little fingers deeper into the hole, grabbed a sizable chunk of the plaster, and pulled as hard as he could. It gave way, and he sat down hard, surprised.

“Hang on a minute,” Daniel said, his voice suddenly different. He started pulling off the crumbling plaster himself, much to Gabriel’s delight. “Patty, grab him,” he directed.

She did, not knowing what was going on, but understanding that he was serious. Gabriel wasn’t happy about it, but she held onto him while Daniel enlarged the opening in the plaster to more than a foot. Then he pulled out his phone, switched on the flashlight and looked into the hole.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He turned to her. “Come take a look.”

Behind the crumbled plaster and splintered lath, there was not, as might have been expected, a stone wall. There was instead a narrow stone stairway, leading down. It had obviously been walled up for years, but from what they could see, it was intact.

“Where would it come out?” he asked, trying to visualize its position in his head.

“Not the kitchen; it’s going in the wrong direction.” She hesitated, frowning. “Could it go to the outside?”

“Unless I’ve completely lost my sense of direction, it would have to, but I can’t think of any doors over here.”

“Well, there wouldn’t be a door, would there? I mean, if it was walled up on this end, wouldn’t it be walled up on the other end too?”

“Of course. Come on, let’s go explore.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along, grinning like a kid, and she followed, because what else was there to do – and anyway, she’d follow him anywhere.

It was still drizzling outside, but she put Gabri down and let him run on the wet grass. He was covered with dust, which was now going to turn to mud, but she’d give him a bath as soon as they went back in, and he was having fun. They stayed as close as possible to the wall of the castle and followed it in what they were sure was the right direction, past the patio and the carefully-tended flower beds bright with red geraniums. “Over here, I think,” Daniel said, gesturing to a part of the wall that was thickly overgrown with ivy. He stepped up close to it and pulled at the ivy, trying to loosen it from the wall. Bits of dead leaves and debris that had been lodged in it fell on him, and he brushed them off, then tugged at it some more. “You want to help?”

“Are there spiders?” she asked warily.

“Definitely spiders,” he responded, flicking one off his arm.

“Can you do it without me?”

He grinned at her over his shoulder. “Sure. Just thought I’d ask.” He gave another yank to the vines, and a whole section swung away from the wall like a curtain. He was able to pull it apart enough to get behind it.

“Watch out for spiders!” she called from a safe distance.

“I’m bigger than they are,” he assured her, then, “Hey, come here.”

She took Gabri by the hand and brought him along with her. “Look, Papa is behind all those leaves.”

Daniel lifted away a section of the ivy and showed her what he’d found: a rectangle of brick set into the stone wall, outlined with a stone frame.

“Well, that’s obviously a door,” she said. “Or at least it was.” There were long tendrils of ivy resting on her head and shoulders, and she pushed them off nervously. “Can we get out of here?”

“Scaredy-cat,” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her neck to make up for it.

“Check me for spiders,” she directed once they were back on the lawn.

“Oh, that sounds like fun,” he smiled, beginning a very thorough check. Gabriel, fortunately, was engaged in trying to pull the ivy away from the wall as Papa had done, but was succeeding only in tearing some of the leaves off the vines. “Let me check here.” He slid his hands into the back of her jeans and pulled her against him, holding her so tight that her feet left the ground as he stroked and massaged her ass.

She leaned into him, and had just enough presence of mind to whisper, “Jesus, Danny, we’re right here on the lawn where anybody could … oh, _God._ ”

“Oh, you like that?” he asked, filing the information for future use. He slid his hands out slowly as he bent to kiss her. “No spiders.”

“Thank God,” she said, straightening her clothes and trying to pretend she hadn’t loved it. She looked up at him. “You are incorrigible.”

“So I’ve been told. Maybe you can teach me to behave myself.”

She gave it a moment’s consideration. “No, I don’t think I will.”

*          *          *          *          *

“So,” Daniel said that evening, “We’ll open up the stairway, but we’ll keep the outside door concealed. If we put a lattice of some sort on the door, we can plant ivy on that, and once the door is shut, it won’t show. Upstairs, probably a bookcase that moves with the door.”

“You really think we’re going to need it?”

“I don’t know, but even if we don’t, there’s a good chance somebody else will.”

She nodded, wondering what kinds of safe houses Angelica and John and Ben were in now.

“Another thing,” he continued. “We’ll have to put in a kitchen. Nothing fancy, just a sink, a small electric stove, and a small fridge. If we set that up on the wall where the bathroom sink is, we can use the plumbing there for both rooms.”

“So we’ll still just need a plumber and an electrician.”

“Right. We’ll use the furniture we found in Gabri’s playroom and the other rooms, maybe buy a few more pieces if we need to.” He gave a rueful smile. “I’ll feel better when we know it’s ready.”

“Do you think we should put a bookcase at this end of the hall too?” she asked. “That would completely conceal the whole section.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s brilliant. It’s not foolproof – somebody with knowledge of architecture or a floor plan of the castle might still find it, but if those kinds of people are searching, there won’t be much we can do anyway. If it’s the local police, though, the equivalent of the Greaters, they won’t even realize.”

Her eyes met his. “You think we’ll have Greaters here?”

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I don’t know. I hope not. But all we can do is do what we can.”

“That’s something Gil would say,” she told him.

“Must be the influence of the surroundings.” He bent to kiss her, then to kiss her again, then pulled her up onto his lap so he didn’t have to bend so far. “Patty, sweetheart …”

“Hmm?”

“What if I didn’t check thoroughly enough, and a spider got into your clothes?”

She choked back a laugh. “I took a shower.”

“I still think I’d better check again.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm,” his mouth against hers, “but I can’t do a complete check if you’ve got clothes on.”

“Oh, okay.”

“And it will be easier to see everything if you’re lying down.”

“Maybe we should go to the bedroom.”

“That’s a great suggestion.”

A few minutes later, they were in bed, and their clothes were on the floor. He was very carefully running his hands over every inch of her body. It was hard for her to talk, but she managed to ask, “Are you sure you have enough light to see any spiders?”

“The light’s not important,” he told her. “I do all the checking by touch. Like right here … and here … and …” He abandoned any pretense then, and slid a leg over her hip. “My God, my God, Patty,” he whispered against her throat. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The age of consent in New York is seventeen, and in France it's fifteen. I just wanted to confirm that in case anybody's worried about Danny's age. Also, there's no question that he has given his complete and informed consent.  
> Do you think the "safe house" will ever be occupied? Should they really trust tradesmen to come in and work on it? How many people will know it's there?  
> There are, in fact, parts of the Chateau de Chavaniac that are thickly covered with ivy, but I don't know what's under it.  
> I've got to be out of town for a few days, and fully occupied with stuff, so there will be a delay in getting the next chapter up. Thanks for your patience, and thanks always for kudos and comments.


	9. I Amaze and Astonish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some renovation work is done on the castle. Blake reveals information about a family connection. Roland resents Danny's authority. Danny tells Patty about something he has kept secret. We get a glimpse of what Alex's squad is doing. Blake is going to take guns to Charleston.

Daniel consulted with Julien first.

 _“Tu sais, le chateau n’est pas à moi,”_ Julien responded, shrugging. “It belongs to Gilbert. If you thought he would object, you would not propose this.”

“That’s true,” Daniel agreed, “but you probably know him better than I do.”

Julien shook his head, smiling faintly. “No, I do not think so. I think that those in the Résistance are the ones who know him best now.”

“Maybe you’re right. Anyway, we’d like to get started as soon as possible. We can do a lot of the work ourselves, but we’ll need a reliable plumber and an electrician. We’d like to be sure we can trust them.”

Julien frowned. “You know Pascal can do practically anything. What kind of changes do you want to make?”

“In the bathroom, just add a shower to the tub, but in the room next to it, we want to install a kitchen, so we need water lines for a sink, and wiring for an electric stove. Doesn’t that take a special kind of wiring?”

“Maybe? I’m sorry, I don’t know. But I do know we can trust Pascal. He’s been with us since he was a teenager, and his father worked for Gilbert’s father. If there is work he can’t do, he will know someone who can do it, someone who is also discreet.”

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. “All right. Oh, and what about the chimneys for the two fireplaces in those rooms? Do you know when they were last swept?”

“Yes, that I can tell you. We have the chimneys swept every year, all of them, no matter how much they’re used. Gilbert says it’s easier to do them all so that they’re ready for use at any time.”

“Good. Another thing I can check off my list.”

“Do you think someone will be using those rooms soon?” Julien asked.

Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s better to have them ready in case we need them.”

“Like the chimneys,” Julien smiled.

“Exactly.”

As it turned out, Pascal was an experienced plumber. He was in his fifties now, and he had helped with various renovations over the last three decades.

“The shower is very simple,” he said, gesturing at the old bathtub. “We connect to the water lines already there, and it can be done in a day. The kitchen will be a little more complicated, but still only a few days. We must buy a sink first, though.”

Martine was making a list: a kitchen sink, a refrigerator, an electric stove. There was a usable table for the kitchen and they’d found some chairs. “What about beds?” she asked Daniel.

“Well, we have one bed frame.”

“If the first room is going to be your studio, the second one will be a bedroom. And I think we should make the last one a bedroom too.”

“And make a sitting area in the kitchen, so it serves as a living room too?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s pretty small for that.”

She smiled up at him. “Do you by any chance remember the size of rooms in New York apartments?”

He was struck by the realization. “You’re right. How spoiled have I gotten that I think a room twice the size of my mom’s living room might be too small for a living room and kitchen? I need to readjust my thinking.” He’d been in the castle less than eighteen months. Everything was too easy here. “All right, we’ll need to buy some beds and mattresses, a couch and a chair …”

“Linens, blankets, lamps, dishes …”

“You have a list, don’t you?”

“Of course, but first we need to get all the plumbing and electrical work done and do the painting.”

“Right.”

It turned out that Josette’s brother Gilles was an electrician, and it didn’t take too long to get the work done. Pascal also suggested that they add some doors between rooms so that no one would have to go into the hallway to go from one room to another. That was work he knew how to do himself, and Daniel volunteered to help. He had told Blake what they were doing, so when it was time to start the construction work, Blake, Maggie, Roland, Suzanne, Aiden, Louise, and Antoine showed up as well. Pascal was a good supervisor, and by the end of the day, they all knew how to frame a door.

“Nobody talks about this,” Blake said, as they sat in the castle kitchen eating the sandwiches Josette had made. “It’s need to know only, and nobody needs to know.”

“Who do you think might use this secret apartment?” Roland asked, a little skeptical.

“Any of us,” Blake responded. “Danny and Martine know what it’s like to have to go into hiding. The election is less than a year off, and I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“God, that sound familiar,” Daniel muttered. “Are you talking about Chauvelin?”

Blake shrugged. “Maybe. You know who I’m worried about, though? Plumier’s daughter.”

“Really?” Martine asked. “I’ve seen a lot of news and magazine coverage on her, sure, but it seems like it’s all soft stuff, what she’s wearing and which restaurants she goes to.” Diane Plumier was an attractive woman in her early fifties. While her late father had been a far-right icon, she had stayed behind the scenes. She was just starting to put herself forward, speaking occasionally on topics like safeguarding French culture.

“It is for now,” Blake said, “but watch. She’s as dangerous as her father.”

“The worst I know of her is that she doesn’t want us using American slang,” Antoine commented, trying to make a joke.

“You need to pay more attention,” Blake told him sharply.

Daniel’s eyebrows went up. “Do you know her?” he asked Blake curiously.

“Not exactly,” Blake replied, his eyes fixed on his wife, “but she’s Maggie’s godmother.”

Daniel sat up straighter. “Oh, shit.”

Maggie looked uncomfortable, but she shrugged. “I was going to have to mention it sooner or later. My mom grew up with Diane Plumier. I’m sorry to say my grandparents were friends with her father.” She hesitated for a minute, biting her lip. “Look, I remember my grandparents as sweet people, but they both died before I was ten. I had no idea what their political views were. Then we moved to England, and by the time I was old enough to ask questions, my mom didn’t want to talk about it. I guess Diane Plumier was at my christening, but I have no memory of ever seeing her.”

“Is your mom still in contact with her?” Martine asked.

There was another brief hesitation. “Not as far as I know. Anyway, my mom lives in London.”

Daniel looked speculatively at Blake. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing to have a possible way in to Diane Plumier.”

“What does that mean?” Maggie’s voice was cold.

“Nothing right now,” Daniel responded calmly, “and maybe nothing ever. Maggie, it’s not personal. We use whatever resources we have.” John and Gil cultivating McMartin. Marty Middicks trying to redeem himself by getting information from Nick Mattice. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

Maggie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I don’t want to be a resource.”

Blake looked from her to Daniel and back again. “I don’t think Danny means …”

Daniel cut him off. “Blake, don’t.”

The room was dead silent now, and Martine could feel the tension in the air. She knew exactly what Danny was talking about. _Either you’re in or you’re out, and if you’re in, you’re all in, up to and including risking your life._ Her throat got tight. Nat, Marty, Betsy, Will Hays, more by now certainly. Did this Circle really understand? “Maggie,” she said, “if you’re in the Résistance, and you can be a resource or a connection to someone we need information from, then you do it. We don’t …” She looked at Danny, thinking of him in prison, willing to stay there long enough to get her mother and Billy Hale out. “We can’t choose not to participate when it gets dangerous.”

“You both know that from experience, don’t you?” Maggie asked, her voice shaky and her eyes full of tears.

Martine nodded. “Yeah.”

Blake pushed his hair back. “I don’t want anyone to use my wife to …”

Danny started talking over him. “One night there was a bomb. Two people were killed, and we were trying to dig out one person who was still alive, but buried under a lot of rubble. Something fell on me and cut my shoulder pretty badly, and they wouldn’t let me dig anymore. John Laurens took my place. Alex Hamilton loves John as much as it’s possible for any human being to love another one, and he could have kept John out, kept him safe, but he didn’t. That’s not the way it works.”

“John Laurens made it out okay, though, right?” Suzanne asked.

“He made it out alive, but a couple of hundred pounds of marble fell on his leg and broke it. I heard him screaming, and I saw Alex’s face … look, I’m not telling you this to scare you with horror stories. It’s just the way it is.”

“So you’re saying you’d send Martine into danger if the mission required it?” Roland demanded, clearly skeptical.

Danny reached across the table and took the hand of the girl he loved. He looked into her eyes, and she smiled at him. Then he turned back to Roland. “Yes.”

Martine held his hand tight. “Of course he would,” she said. “And I’d do the same if it was him. It’s the only way we can change anything. Back in New York, practically everything was dangerous. If we’d tried to protect each other, we’d never have accomplished anything.”

“And yet,” Roland responded, his voice light, but his eyes fixed coldly on Danny’s face, “George King is still President of your country.”

“It’s not over,” Danny told him, his face expressionless.

Aiden stood up, shoving his chair into Louise’s as he did, and everyone jumped. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea to go at each other’s throats over hypotheticals,” he said. “We don’t even know if Diane Plumier has political ambitions. If she does, and if Maggie can talk to her, good, maybe it will be helpful. But we’re too old to be playing this game of truth or dare.”

“Is that what it is?” Blake asked, not sarcastically, but as if he were really trying to figure it out.

Danny shook his head. “I don’t know. I think we have to look at all the possibilities.”

Martine was still holding his hand. She squeezed it and smiled faintly. “Danny’s always five miles and twelve hours ahead of everybody else.”

“He’s Danny now?” Suzanne asked curiously.

Martine shrugged. “Oh, well, Blake’s been calling him that. I like it.”

*          *          *          *          *

“Do you think they understand?” Martine asked later when they were alone.

“Aiden does,” Daniel responded, “although I don’t know why. Blake and Maggie probably, but they don’t really think it will happen to them. Roland – I don’t know. He doesn’t like me much.”

“You think it’s personal?”

“Yeah. They had their thing going, supporting the Movement, running guns across the Atlantic, all very exciting and heroic. Then I show up and tell them they’re doing everything wrong. I can’t blame anybody for resenting me.”

“But you’re right.”

His arm was around her and her head was on his shoulder. He ruffled her hair and grinned down at her. “Well, of course I am.”

She smiled and snuggled closer. “I guess I can see why they might not want you to be in charge.”

“Yet,” he said.

“What?”

“I need to be in charge because I know more than they do, but I’ve been pushing too fast. Maybe I don’t have to be in charge yet. Maybe I should wait for them to figure it out.”

“Recognize your brilliance, you mean?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.” He bent down, tickling her ribs, and covered her laughing mouth with his. A while later, his lips touching her ear, he whispered, “I love you.”

She tilted her head away from him so he could kiss her neck, and he did, slowly, from her hairline to her collarbone. He stopped there and sighed. “We have work to do.”

“Really? Now?”

“Mm-hm, but it won’t take long, and then we can get back to this.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

She slid off his lap. “Okay, what are we doing?”

“We’re setting up a theater company, so that we can buy weird things without raising suspicions. You can come up with a play that will cover just about any purchase. Smoke bombs, fake blood, sound effects recordings of gunfire, not to mention things like wigs, beards, and make-up that can change a person’s appearance.”

“Isn’t theatrical make-up really difficult to do?”

“I’m sure it’s not easy, but I’m also sure you could learn how to do it.”

“Oh, that’s going to be my job?”

“One of them.”

“All right, I’m in. I wonder if Louise might be interested in that.”

“Talk to her. For now, we need a name for our drama club – sorry, our community theater company.”

“I suppose _Théâtre Chavaniac_ wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we want to be that obvious about our location. We’re using Antoine’s address, so everything will be delivered to him.” Antoine’s small cottage just outside the castle grounds had no near neighbors.

Martine nodded. “We should just choose a generic name, something that has no link to any place or person.” She thought for a minute. “What about _Théâtre des Songes?_ ”

“Theater of Dreams? I like it. A little romantic, a little mysterious, and no actual information.” He gave her a quick kiss. “So what goes in our first order?’

“A supply of make-up, for sure, and check and see if they have any theatrical make-up tutorials on DVD. Better to buy it once than build a history of watching it repeatedly on YouTube. If you get wigs, get the best ones. Cheap wigs look really, really fake. Glasses with clear glass like the ones you gave me. That’s probably enough to start.”

“You seem to have figured it all out ahead of time.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. Remember how Angelica completely changed my appearance when I was hiding out at the church.”

He smiled. “I remember. I swept up all your long hair after she cut it off.”

“That’s right, you did.” She was quiet, remembering Danny offering to clean up while she and Angelica went into the bathroom to bleach her dark brown hair blond.

“I kept a lock of your hair,” he said softly.

 _“What?”_ she asked, her eyes wide. “Why didn’t you …”

“Sh.” He cut her off. “I didn’t even understand why I did it at the time. I told myself it was just a keepsake because you were my friend, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. Maybe it was true. Maybe I was feeling things I didn’t know how to deal with.”

She was leaning on his shoulder, and she picked up his hand, ran her fingers over the palm. “Do you still have it?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Did Gil know you brought it with you?”

“Of course not. He would have burned it, just like he would have burned your letters from Nat. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She smiled, but her face was troubled. “I hope Gil was wrong on that. He knew about the flash drive, though, with the concert rehearsal on it. He was okay with it.”

“A recording of a concert isn’t really suspicious. You just like the music.”

“Yeah.” She hadn’t listened to it in a long time. Nat’s voice, singing “Blowin’ in the Wind” as part of a trio, all of them laughing and joking around between songs, Tim tuning his guitar, Danny goofing around on the drums. She had listened to it over and over when she first came to Chavaniac. Now – well, it had been a while, but she’d listen to it again. They both would, and they’d play it for Gabriel. Gabriel would know that he’d had a first father before Danny, a father who was gone now, but who still loved him. She didn’t have any pictures, but she had his voice for Gabriel to listen to, and maybe someday when they went back to New York, she could introduce Gabriel to his grandmother Elizabeth Hale, who would almost certainly have held onto at least one picture of her son.

“I miss everybody,” she said.

Danny’s arm tightened around her. “Me too. I wish more than anything that I could talk this all over with Alex or John. I don’t know if I’m getting it right or not.”

“I think you are. Sometimes you sound a lot like Alex.”

He winced. “Not John?”

“Not really. Your personality is more like John’s though.”

“I’m glad. There’s nobody I’d rather have as a role model.”

She choked back what might have been a sob. “I hope they’re all okay. I wonder where they are.”

*          *          *          *          *

_They were in a shabby nondescript cabin in the Poconos, about two hours northwest of Philadelphia. It had once belonged to a Hope family who had fallen on hard times, and TJ’s tech genius and Alex had hacked into the public records to make sure the taxes were recorded as paid. Another very similar cabin about a mile away was occupied by Crazy Tony’s squad. The area was thickly wooded and miles from the nearest town. There was a lake nearby, but no beach or public facilities. The accommodation was Spartan, but adequate, at least in the summer. Keeping the cabins warm in the harsh mountain winter had been a challenge, but they’d managed. For now the biggest problem was getting enough food. Since Peggy and Katie had joined them, there were seven adults and a baby to feed. Tony had six in his squad. Alex spent hours of his time hacking into bank accounts and moving money onto fake credit cards and gift cards to keep everybody fed. John had become an expert at preparing cheap but nutritious meals, and they ate rice and beans almost every day._

_A couple of months earlier, they had blown up a bridge, but things hadn’t gone quite according to plan, and they hadn’t gotten out in time. Gil’s left leg had been badly injured and hadn’t yet healed completely. He still needed crutches to get around, and Peggy worried silently that it was never going to be all right. Ben Rush from Tony’s squad, an EMT, had done the best he could, but he wasn’t a surgeon. Gil was fed up with his slow recovery and with having to use the crutches. Now he threw them on the floor, insisting he was fine without him, and stood up to walk to the kitchen. Three steps in, his left leg gave out, and if Herc hadn’t caught him, he would have fallen._

_“Fuck!” Gil snapped, slamming his hand on the nearby table._ “Putain de merde!” _He let Herc help him to a chair and sat there, swearing fluently and not looking at any of them._

_Alex and John exchanged glances. John got up from the floor and sat in the chair across from Gil. “What did Ben say?” he asked._

_Gil lifted his head. “You know what he said.”_

_John nodded. “That it might be a few months. Remember when I broke my leg?”_

_“I did not break my leg,” Gil pointed out._

_“No, but the shrapnel caused more muscle and tendon damage than a clean break might have. And, much as I hate to point it out, I had the benefit of topnotch medical care, and you’ve had … well, the best that an EMT with limited resources can provide.”_

No Novocain, _Peggy wanted to remind them. Ben had had to work on Gil’s leg without any anesthesia at all. He had done his best to clean it up and stitch it, but certainly under normal circumstances a surgeon would have done more. She was deeply thankful that there had been enough antibiotics that the wound had healed without infection. She went to stand behind Gil now, put her arms around him and leaned down. “Gil,_ chéri,” _she began._

_He caught her hand in his and held it to his face, kissing her fingertips. Across the room, Angelica rolled her eyes._

“J’aime pas être inutile,” _Gil muttered._

_“You’re not useless,” Peggy told him fiercely, bending to kiss his cheek._

_He turned toward where Alex sat on the couch, phone in hand, trying to hack into gift card sites. “Two months,_ Alexandre, il y a deux mois que je ne fais rien.”

_“You’re welcome to help me with the internet stuff,” Alex said calmly._

_“You know I don’t know enough about that,” Gil retorted._

_“Mm,” Alex agreed, his eyes on his screen._

_“I could teach you to knit,” Eliza offered from her usual place in the comfy chair, needles clicking rapidly. “It may be warm now, but come winter, we’ll all need hats and scarves and mittens.”_

_Gil snorted, but there was a tiny quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He shoved his chair back and pulled Peggy down on his lap. He twisted his fingers in her curls as he looked around the room. “None of you are being very helpful,” he told his friends._

_“Well, since none of us have magical healing abilities, there’s not much we can do,” Herc pointed out. “You’ll just have to keep doing the physical therapy stuff you and Ben worked out.”_

_“And be patient,” Peggy added gently._

_He shook his head and leaned over to rub the calf muscle of his left leg, wincing. He knew enough anatomy to know that the shrapnel had torn the hell out of the soleus and all the fibularis muscles, and that Ben might not have reattached them expertly. He probably could have done a better job himself, but without anesthesia and light-headed from blood loss, that would have been a stupid decision. Ben had done the best he could, and he was grateful to still have the use of his leg. It was getting better, if slowly, and he was diligent about doing the stretching and the exercises. He looked up and his eyes met John’s across the table. He reached for John’s hand. “Thank you for your help with the physical therapy,” he said with a rueful smile._

_“Back when I was in the hospital,” John recalled, “somebody told me that I needed to do what the doctors and the physical therapists said so my leg would heal,”_

_“You didn’t like it,” Gil reminded him._

_“No shit. I did it, though.”_

_“Well, eventually.”_

_“I’m walking – and you’re walking better. And I’m telling you, your leg was a mess. I swear to God, it looked like hamburger.”_

_“Not helpful!” Angelica told him, but John and Gil were both grinning._

_Alex looked up from his phone screen. “You two aren’t really going to start on the ‘My wound was worse than yours’ competition, are you? Because that’s just one step down from the ‘Mine is bigger than yours’ competition, and I really don’t want to deal with that.”_

_John laughed and threw up his hands. Gil’s grin grew broader and he pulled Peggy’s head down so his mouth was close to her ear. “Well, it is,” he said softly. Peggy let out a little shriek, turned bright red, and hid her face against his neck._

_Angelica rolled her eyes again._

*          *          *          *          *

Nearly four thousand miles away, Danny and Patty stood next to Gabriel’s crib, looking down at the baby who was rapidly becoming a toddler. He still slept with Puppy, who was getting shabby, all the plush rubbed off his muzzle.

“He’s such a great kid,” Danny said.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Sometimes I feel guilty being safe when I know how many people we love are in danger, but then I see him, and I’m grateful that we’re here for him.”

“Me too, but I try to remember … we’ll still do what we can.”

Danny looked over the crib at the small window, nothing but darkness on the other side. “Blake’s going to Charleston in two weeks.”

Her stomach turned over, but she kept her voice calm. “Are you going to go with him?”

“Not this time, but I’ll meet everybody on this end.”

She nodded, her hand tight on his. The time would come. It would be foolish to pretend this peaceful life would go on forever.

He bent over and kissed Gabriel’s cheek gently, then pulled her across the hall to their room. He went to the bookcase next to the desk and took out a shabby copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_. When he opened it, she saw that the center of the book had been cut out, creating a hiding place that would never be noticed. He removed the small tissue-paper-wrapped bundle and unfolded it. In it was a lock of dark brown hair, fastened at one end with a bit of gold ribbon.

Patty’s eyes were full as she reached out and touched the ribbon with one finger. “Christmas ribbon?”

Danny shrugged. “It’s the only ribbon Tim kept around.”

She smiled up at him. “I never would have thought you were this sentimental.”

He didn’t say anything, folded the little package up, put it back in its hiding place, and returned the book to the shelf. He turned to her and took her face in his hands. “I thought you were amazing even then. I hoped I would find a girl like you someday. Now …”

Tears were running down her face. “Danny …”

“Look at how lucky we are to be alive right now.” He slid his hands up to cradle her head and bent to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was about time we looked in on Alex and everyone else now living in hiding. You'll see something of them from time to time.  
> Anybody know why Danny chose "A Tale of Two Cities" to hide his secret in? A bit of literary allusion there, and me crying again over Sydney Carton.  
> I'm sorry chapters are coming slowly. That's me, struggling through the depressing mess that the beginning of 2019 has been, where this AU is the happiest place I visit. Positive thoughts and encouragement would be very welcome, but in any case, many thanks to all those who have commented or left kudos. <3


	10. Time to Get Some Pistols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Blake take a day trip to arrange for a shipment of guns and spend some time in conversation. Danny learns that things (and people) are not always what they seem, and assumptions that might have been made about some of the Boston squad are incorrect. Danny misses a lot of things about New York, but one thing in particular may present a problem.

Danny went with Blake to meet the people who supplied the guns. He knew they worked for the French government, but not in what capacity.

“How did you come to be in charge of gun-running, anyway?” he asked.

Blake took his eyes off the road for a second to give him a sideways glance. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

Danny shrugged. “Ben cleared you, and nobody seemed to think I needed to know.”

“I’m making the call on that now. I think that it would at least be useful for you to know.” He looked at the dashboard clock. “We’ve got a couple of hours.” The military base was nearly three hours southeast of Chavaniac.

“Okay, then, tell me the story.”

“A couple of years ago, Maggie and I were living in England. I’m English, born in Gloucestershire, and after Maggie’s dad died, her mum moved to London for her job. Maggie was around fourteen then, so she more or less grew up in England too. Anyway, we met at university.”

“Which one?”

Blake shot him a sideways look. “Oxford.”

“Which college?”

“Christ Church.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes. I was reading History and Politics, Maggie was reading French and Linguistics. Our classes didn’t exactly overlap, but we met through a mutual friend. You might know her.”

Danny frowned. “I might know your mutual friend from Oxford?”

“Yeah.” Blake gave him another look. “She was from Boston.”

Danny remembered when he heard about two Movement members from Boston going to study in England. Alex had raged about it, furious that they would leave the country when they were needed most.

“Let me guess,” he said now. “Nice girl, really smart, but with an ugly, disagreeable boyfriend?”

Blake grinned. “Correct.”

“Huh. So tell me how Abbie Smith and John Adams got you and Maggie interested in the Movement.”

“Well, it was only Abbie at first.”

“I never met either of them, myself,” Danny explained, “but Martine knew them a little. From what she told me, everybody liked Abbie, but nobody except Abbie liked John.”

Blake snorted. “True. Abbie’s brilliant, but John is a self-righteous prick without any trace of a sense of humor. If you can put up with him, though, he’s generally right on all the important stuff.”

“Really?” Danny thought about that. “I don’t think anyone from our squad ever took the time to get that far.”

“Getting to know him is a fairly daunting task,” Blake admitted. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I like the guy, but I do respect him.”

“Okay, good to know. What did he or Abbie say to persuade you that our cause was worth taking up?”

Blake gave his attention to driving as they crossed a bridge with a low stone parapet and followed the curve of the road to the south. Danny gazed out at the green fields with the stream winding serenely through them. _I’m getting too used to peace,_ he thought. _It’s starting to feel like home._

That worried him, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

The road straightened out again, and Blake said, “John Adams used to talk a lot about how equal branches of government were supposed to act as checks and balances, but that King had destroyed that order.”

“It’s true,” Danny conceded, “but he couldn’t have done it without the consent of Congress.”

“That’s what Adams said – ‘a corrupt President and a complicit Congress’ were his exact words, if I remember correctly. He talked about the failure of the elected government to govern, and Abbie talked about the suffering of the people. The two of them made quite an impression.”

“Teamwork?”

“Probably, but it never sounded rehearsed. They reminded us that if your government fell, other countries would follow; that without your leadership, the whole world could tumble into disorder.”

“I think that’s true.”

“And that’s what your Résistance is about, right?”

Danny nodded, his eyes on the blue-gray horizon. “Yeah.”

“Well, Maggie and I became convinced that if we didn’t help, we might be responsible for the fall of Europe, so we signed on. Abbie and John had made contact with Prime Minister Guilford by then, and …”

“Wait, what?” Danny interrupted.

“Right, I don’t mean they necessarily met with him personally, although they may have, but they were meeting with someone from …” His voice faded as he realized Danny was staring at him in disbelief.

Danny swallowed hard. “So their studying here … it was a way to connect with your government?”

“And the government of France as well.”

“Shit.” Danny banged his hand against the car door. “Fuck.”

“What?” Blake asked, bewildered.

Danny took a breath. “We thought they had abandoned the Movement. We hated them.”

“Someone must have decided you didn’t need to know,” Blake concluded softly.

“Yeah. We never saw it that way. We didn’t … nobody liked John Adams, and it seemed like Abbie did everything he wanted, so we just assumed … ah, shit. I wish I could tell Alex.”

“Apparently, I shouldn’t have told you,” Blake said.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to call anybody in New York. It’s a heads up to me, though, a reminder not to judge so quickly.” He huffed out a rueful laugh. “Tim always told me …”

“Tim?”

“My guardian. Also my pastor, and he preached more than once about not judging others.”

“Really? Seems to me like religious people are usually the first ones to pronounce judgment.”

Danny felt himself flush, but he kept his voice level. “Not all of us, and for sure not Tim. People practice their faith in all sorts of ways.”

“So you’re … what, a believer? You go to church and all that?”

“Yeah.”

Blake seemed surprised, but he shrugged indifferently. “Okay.”

“All right, so Abbie and John met with somebody from Guilford’s government, and then that person made the connection with France?”

“That’s what seemed to have been going on. They wouldn’t have told me everything, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And then since Maggie was French and I was English, it was easy for us to work with everyone involved. We got married as soon as we finished university, and it was easy to travel back and forth, visiting family and friends.”

“Not to ask intrusive questions,” Danny said, “but do you or Maggie have a regular job? You seem to have a lot of free time and a nice car, nice apartment, stuff like that.”

Blake hesitated for a minute. “You know how Lafayette inherited the title and the castle through his family? How he has a significant income without working?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there are still a few English families where that’s the case as well.”

Danny turned to look at him. “Wait, are you like the Duke of Percy or something?”

“No, not a Duke, and really, I don’t use the title.”

“You sound just like Gil. So what is your full name and title?”

Blake sighed. “Blakeney Percy, Viscount Burnet.”

Danny thought about it, reviewing what he had read about British nobility. “So I should have been addressing you as _My Lord_ all this time?”

“Oh, shut up,” Blake muttered.

Danny grinned. “Lord and Lady Burnet,” he mused.

Blake took his eyes off the road long enough to glare at him. “You’re not going to start using that, are you?”

“Not if you don’t want me to. Is Burnet the estate, or does that have another name?”

“No, that’s it, Burnet Hall.”

“In Gloucestershire?”

“Right.”

“Is it as big as the castle?”

“You damned colonials are all alike,” Blake said with a noisy sigh. “You have a Constitution that forbids any titles of nobility, but you’re fascinated by the European ones.”

“Sorry, My Lord,” Danny snickered.

“Sod off,” Blake responded amicably.

“Come on, tell me about Burnet Hall, and I’ll pretend you’re just another peasant like the rest of us.”

Blake sighed. “Fine.” He continued in an exaggerated tour-guide voice, “Burnet Hall, the country estate of the Percy family, lies a few miles southwest of Chipping Norton. The Georgian house is constructed of Cotswold limestone … blah, blah, blah. It’s just an English country house, no towers, no turrets, no secret passages. Open to the public on Wednesdays and Saturdays, tickets are only ten pounds. Tea is served in the café at four o’clock.”

“Really?”

“Really. Have to pay the taxes, you know.”

“Maybe I’ll get there sometime.”

“Have you been to England yet?”

Danny shook his head, a little embarrassed. “I’d never been on a plane until I flew here. I’d only been out of New York a couple of times.”

“Where’d you go to university?”

“Columbia,” Danny lied. “Right in New York City.” He was nowhere near ready to admit he hadn’t even finished high school. That would mean talking about how old he was in real years instead of the imaginary years that John Laurens had given him, and nobody needed to know about that. Anyway, he’d read all of Alex’s and Eliza’s books, as well as Tim’s, so no one seemed to doubt he was a college graduate.

“Well, you’ll be going to England soon,” Blake said. “Not this trip, but the next one. We ship from there,”

“How do we get the guns from here to there?”

“Lorries. You’ll see.”

The countryside was becoming hillier, and Blake reminded him that they weren’t far from the Alps. That would be something to see. They’d bring Gabriel to the mountains when he was a little older, maybe learn to ski. He leaned back against the headrest and stayed quiet for a while, thinking about Patty and Gabriel and what the future might be like. It was hard to stay alert when the enemy seemed to be far away, and that worried him. Complacency was dangerous.

The road zig-zagged down a slope, and the exposed rocks were pale and chalky-looking instead of the gray that he was used to near Chavaniac. There were more buildings along the road now, and then a few small towns of white houses with red tile roofs. A little farther, and they were entering a small city with busy streets, a stadium, and dozens of tall apartment buildings, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Blake slowed down for the traffic, and Danny looked out the window, taking in as much as he could. In a little while, they crossed the wide, tranquil Rhône, where a few sailboats floated on the glassy water. Then up another hill, a left, a right, and Blake was showing a pass to a sentry at a gate in front of a cluster of brick buildings whose roofs were just visible over an imposing stone wall.

The pass must have been all right, because the guard waved them through, and they continued into what was undoubtedly a military installation of some kind.

“You planning on telling me where we are?” Danny asked.

Blake waved his hand vaguely. “Army base.”

“No shit. Anything more specific?”

“Not at the moment. I’m sure you read the signs when we came in.”

“Yeah, so I know the name of the base, but that doesn’t tell me much. What kind of base?”

“What are we here for?”

Danny nodded. “So, an arms depot?”

“Something like that.”

“And we’re here to – what, make a selection?”

“Yeah. Also, you need to meet Sébastien.”

“Sébastien’s our guy?”

“He’s our guy on this base. We have another guy who handles the transport.”

“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. Sébastien shows us what’s available, and we pick out what we want to send. Then someone else …”

“Jean-Pierre and Marcelle.”

“Okay, Jean-Pierre and Marcelle load up the trucks and drive to England, where yet another person …”

“Tom.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Fine. Tom then loads the cargo, and the boat sails west. Have I got it?”

Blake grinned. “Pretty well. Jean-Pierre and Marcelle own a transport company, and they are the only ones who ever handle moving the … freight out of here. Their lorries cross the Channel all the time, and they know everybody. They never get more than a cursory search, and, anyway, everything is well-concealed.”

“Jean-Pierre and Marcelle, are they a couple or just business partners?”

“A couple. Why?”

“Married?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Just figuring it out. It’s better if they’re a couple because their loyalties will tend to lie in the same direction. It’s better yet if they’re married, stronger ties, you know?”

“Okay, I get what you’re saying.”

“Last names?” Danny asked.

“Jean-Pierre Bance and Marcelle St. Cyr.”

“What’s the name of their company?”

“Transport Apollon. Their logo is a chariot with fiery wheels.”

“Oh, very classical. It would never work in New York.”

“You said it, not me.”

“And Tom?”

“Tom Wren. You ask a hell of a lot of questions.”

“I know. Where’s Tom? Is he a shipping director or what?”

“He arranges things with a shipping director.”

Danny narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what that means.”

“Abbie and John helped set Tom up as an exporter, made sure he had a license, that sort of thing. Now, as far as anyone knows, Tom exports custom curtain hardware.”

Danny thought about it. “That’s a good cover. The merchandise would be large and bulky.”

“Exactly. It’s very carefully wrapped because some of it is hand-carved.”

Danny nodded. “The weight would be right. Who came up with it?”

“John Adams,” Blake said, flashing a smile.

“He’s smart.”

“Like I said, not the most personable guy around, but he thinks things through.”

“So does Tom have a factory or something?”

“No, the curtain accessories are made at small independent workshops in both England and France. That’s why the shipments come in varying amounts and at irregular times.”

Danny’s respect for John Adams was rapidly increasing. “Very, very smart. And as far as the customs people know, Tom coordinates the exporting of a variety of custom curtain hardware. It crosses the ocean and is unloaded at Charleston.”

“That’s it.”

“You go with it to Charleston?”

“Usually. As far as anyone knows, I’m Tom’s international sales representative.”

It sounded seamless. Alex Hamilton himself could not have done better. Danny said that to Blake.

“High praise indeed.”

Danny nodded. “I’d like to meet John Adams.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Maybe not right away, though. There are reasons why it might be better if he wasn’t aware I’d left New York.”

Blake looked puzzled. “I thought you’d never met him.”

“I haven’t, but … look, I can’t say any more, really.” John and Abbie had never seen him, but they certainly knew Patty. It was fair to assume that they could be trusted, but he wasn’t ready to have his and Patty’s carefully constructed backstory blown apart. They had known Patty only as Nat’s fiancée, and anybody who’d known Nat would know Gabriel was Nat’s son the minute they laid eyes on him. He wasn’t ready to open that up yet. He thought about it as Blake pulled the car into a parking space in front of a low building with _Intendant d’Armes et des Munitions_ on a placard next to the door. Why would it bother him if other people knew he wasn’t Gabriel’s biological father? They’d never planned on keeping it a secret. He needed to talk to Patty and work through it because at some point he was going to have to make the acquaintance of John Adams.

As they got out of the car, Blake said, “We speak only French here. Sébastien knows I’m English, but there’s no reason to publicize it, and you could pass for French any day, so keep it that way.”

Danny nodded and followed Blake through the door into an ordinary-looking office with a worn tile floor and institutional green walls. A young uniformed soldier at a desk looked up and gave them a brisk nod. _“Messieurs?”_ he inquired.

 _“Capitaine Bashir nous attend,”_ Blake told him.

The soldier politely motioned them to some chairs along the wall, then spoke into his phone. After a brief conversation, he asked them to follow him and led them down a corridor past closed doors behind which they could hear voices, the shining of printers, and the occasional ringing telephone. It could have been any office building anywhere.

Sébastien Bashir stood to shake hands when they entered. He was tall, with very dark hair and eyes and brown skin. Blake introduced Danny.

“I’m happy to meet you,” Bashir said. “I’m glad to see more support for the Résistance.”

“Good to meet you, too,” Danny responded with a smile. “Do you mind if I ask what drew you to the Résistance? I know you’re working under the aegis of the government here, but they wouldn’t have selected you to deal with this if you didn’t support us.” He glanced at Blake to see if he objected to his query, but Blake just gave a half-smile and threw his hands up.

Bashir nodded. “True enough. Most of my colleagues aren’t aware of this program. My grandparents fled Libya when my father was twelve. He saw and understood enough that he taught me to value freedom.” He paused and gave Danny an assessing look. “It seems that leaders who are legally elected can sometimes be just as dangerous as those who take power by force. It’s something we must always be on guard against.”

That was certainly true about President King, but Danny wondered if he was thinking of Paul Chauvelin or perhaps Diane Plumier. Good to know that there were French citizens who were aware of the possible danger.

Blake spoke up quickly before a long political conversation could get started. “What do you have for us to look at today, Sébastien?”

“I’ll show you.”

They exited the office building through an inconspicuous back door and got into a military vehicle parked in the alley there. Bashir drove, taking them away from the complex of buildings past what looked like shooting ranges and practice fields of some sort. They went up a steep hill and then around it just below the crest and on into a thickly wooded valley where the road went from asphalt to gravel to dirt. A couple of miles past the end of the gravel, Danny saw a surprisingly large building off to their left, a building fronted with rough lumber and painted dark green to blend into the surroundings. Sébastien turned and grinned at Danny over his shoulder. “Welcome to the warehouse.” He clicked an automatic door opener, and drove into the garage that opened on the side of the building.

Everything seemed unnaturally quiet, but then Danny realized that he wasn’t familiar enough with the woods to know what was natural and what wasn’t, so he followed Sébastien and Blake into the warehouse without comment. Sébastien flipped a switch beside the door, and the lights came on, startlingly bright after the dimness of the trees. The warehouse had no windows, so there was nothing to betray their presence. Along the walls were dozens, probably hundreds, of boxes that clearly held guns and ammunition.

“How many can you take?” Sébastien asked.

“Let’s say three hundred long guns and a hundred hand guns with ammo for both. Come on, Danny, let’s pick out what we want.”

Danny missed having a gun, missed the reassuring weight of it in his hand. If he were being perfectly honest, he missed the excitement of standing on a rooftop with Gil and John, seeing if he could take out a Greater with one shot. Sometimes Gil would take two shots, but then, he never missed, and they’d have to get away before anyone realized what was happening. They’d go on random days at random times, sometimes in retaliation for something like the attack on the church, sometimes just because they had to do something to stand up to King. He had no idea how many he’d killed. None of them kept score. “It’s not about numbers,” John had said. “It’s about taking our country back.”

He felt no guilt at all. King’s Greaters had killed Nat and Will and Betsy, wounded little Ruby Carpenter and old Mr. Weathers. He would have shot every single one of them if he could.

“How do we get guns for ourselves?” he asked Blake now.

Blake’s eyebrows went up. “You want a gun?”

“Yeah. Actually, I’d like two, a long gun with a telescopic sight and a decent hand gun. A Glock or a Sig Sauer, if possible. That’s what I’m used to.”

“We have some Sig Sauers,” Sébastien said helpfully, pointing to where they were.

Danny crossed the room to look at them, picked up a hefty 9mm that held fifteen rounds. “Ah, shit,” he murmured, running his thumb over the grip. “I need this one.”

“You can’t legally own one in France,” Blake said hastily.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Well, duh, I know that. I wasn’t talking about _legally_.”

Blake looked at Sébastien as if he might offer a suggestion, but he just grinned, watching Danny lovingly stroke the pistol. Danny looked up and grinned back. “What’s the deal as far as your government is concerned?”

“Blake will sign off for three hundred long guns and a hundred hand guns. Then when Jean-Pierre and Marcelle arrive, I will have the guns ready for them.”

“Do the numbers have to match?” Danny asked, his eyes still on the Sig Sauer. “If Blake signs off for a total of four hundred, do four hundred have to be loaded on the trucks?”

Sébastien looked at Blake, trying to gauge his attitude. “I’m the one who fills out the paperwork, and as long as I know where all the guns are going, I have no problem.”

Danny turned to Blake. “So?”

Blake’s expression was somewhere between horror and admiration. “I swear to God, you’re looking at that gun like you want to fuck it.”

Danny looked back at the pistol in his hand, smiling. “Oh, I don’t know that I actually want to fuck this pretty thing, but I’d sure as hell like to fuck up a few of Chauvelin’s crowd with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the long delay between chapters. January was the month from hell, but (fingers crossed), things may get back to normalish now, and that means more writing time.  
> Is Danny going to keep the gun?  
> By the way, the ghost of Danny Phoenix seems to be haunting me in some very strange ways -- either that or there are some really improbable coincidences occurring around here. I'm noting them on my tumblr blog (@daisy-rivers) if you want to see what's up.  
> Tell me what you think of the story. I love hearing from you.


	11. My Mind Is Older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Blake talk about guns and shooting. The hidden apartment is completed. Chauvelin is in the news commenting on immigrants. Blake meets with Tom Wren in England, and then travels to Charleston, where he gets new information from Frank Marion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to all of you for your patience. Danny has quite a bit to say in this chapter. I'm sure that won't surprise anybody who knows him.

“I’ll need a long gun, too,” Danny said. “Rifle with an infrared scope. You’ve got those, right?”

“A few,” Sébastien replied. “Most of the long guns here are military-style assault rifles.”

“I don’t need an assault weapon, at least not now. I’m not going to be fighting a war all by myself. Let me see your sniper rifles.”

Sébastien brought a couple out for him, put them on the table. “This is the Ultima Ratio. It’s one that the French Army uses.”

Danny picked it up, held it to his shoulder, sighted along the barrel. “It’s okay,” he said. “A little bulky. What about the other one?”

“It’s a PSG 1. Also used by the French Army, but made in Germany.”

Danny ran his hand lightly along the barrel. “It’s pretty.”

Blake put his hand to his forehead. “You are utterly and completely insane.”

“Nah.” Danny picked up the gun, checked the chamber, aimed at a corner of the room. “I’ll take this one.”

“You sound like you’re shopping for a tie.”

Danny laughed. “I only have one tie, and I didn’t pick it out. I’ve handled a lot more guns than I have ties.”

“And you like handling them.”

“Fuck, yeah.” He turned to Sébastien. “Have you got a shoulder holster for the Sig Sauer?” Sébastien went to look, and Danny turned back to face Blake. “We all trained with guns, and we all knew how to use them, but not everybody liked doing it. Alex hates guns. He can shoot, and he has every time he’s needed to, but that’s it. Gil, though, Gil loves guns. He loves shooting, and he’s amazingly good at it. John Laurens grew up with guns, learned to shoot when he was a kid, and his father would take him hunting. Guns aren’t a big deal to him one way or another, but he respects them, and he’s good with them. He taught me to shoot.”

“Another activity he mentored you in?”

“Yeah, you could say that, except I think I enjoy it more than he does. Gil, John, and I, we were the best marksmen in New York. In that order. I’m out of practice, though.” His face turned serious. “Can all of your guys shoot?”

Blake hesitated. “Adequately, I suppose, but probably not well enough. Perhaps we should form a hunting club.”

“A what?”

“If we form a hunting club, we can shoot within a designated area – I assume Julien will approve shooting on the castle grounds. We can hunt rabbits or pheasants or whatever you like, or nothing at all, but the hunting club will be good cover for shooting practice.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“I’ll get Maggie on it. She’ll know who to contact.”

Sébastien returned with a leather shoulder holster, and Danny shrugged it on, adjusted the fit, and put the pistol in it. He walked around for a minute or two, then practiced drawing the gun. “Yeah, that’s good. Let’s get some ammo.”

Sébastien brought out the ammunition and showed Danny how to disassemble the PSG 1 and pack it into a carrier that could pass for an ordinary briefcase. The handgun, holster, and ammo were placed in a small duffel bag.

“We don’t get searched on the way out, do we?” Danny asked.

“No,” Blake replied, “although shouldn’t you have asked that sooner?”

Danny grinned. “You would have told me.”

*          *          *          *          *

Blake was quiet for the first half hour or so of the ride back to Chavaniac. He finally spoke as they got out of the suburban area and climbed into the pine-filled hills. “Were you always armed in New York?”

“Every single day, every place we went? No.” He was going to have to handle this carefully. “At least I wasn’t. The university buildings had metal detectors.” So did the high schools, but he didn’t mention that. “Off campus, though, I usually had a gun with me. We had a place where we stored them, a place we all had access to, so we could get to them quickly, no matter what was going on.”

“An arsenal.”

“Yes, exactly. There was a time … people were being shot in the streets. Gil and John had their handguns with them, but they needed rifles. Gil gave me his Glock and took a rifle out of the arsenal. After that day, I had a gun with me most of the time.”

“Why did they need rifles?”

“To shoot from the rooftops.”

Blake took a breath and then nodded. “Of course. They were the snipers.”

Danny felt weary. He didn’t want to have to explain everything in words of one syllable. “Blake,” he said gently, “you do know it was a war, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do, of course.” He was silent for a while, his attention on the road. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to who was directly involved in the actual shooting.”

“You’ve talked to TJ – sorry, to Ginger.”

“Not about this.”

“Okay.” Danny gave him a little time. “If you’re worried about having to kill somebody, that’s normal.”

_“Jesus!”_ Blake drove a few more miles, then pulled the car onto the gravel in front of a small café surrounded by a few houses might have been called a village. “I’d like some coffee,” he said.

He locked the car carefully – after all, there were guns in it now – and Danny followed him into the café. Blake ordered coffee for both of them and found a table in the back corner. “English?” he suggested.

Danny looked around and shrugged. There were only a handful of other people in the café, and they all appeared to be absorbed in their own conversations or phones. “I guess,” he said.

Blake took a sip of his coffee. “First, let’s not assume that there’s going to be fighting in the streets here, the way there has been in New York.”

“I’m not assuming anything,” Danny told him. “I’m also not ruling anything out.” He still wasn’t sure what was on Blake’s mind.

Blake drank some more coffee and rubbed his forehead. “When did it start? The shooting, I mean.”

Danny shook his head. “We have to go back before that to find the point where most of us decided that we would use violence if necessary – and that was the day King had the Washingtons killed. That’s when I knew what I was willing to do. As for the first day that I was personally involved in shooting, it was what we called the Times Square Riot. The Greaters got a crowd of protestors jammed into Times Square, and closed off the streets so nobody could get out. I was with Tim, and we had met up with Alex and John and the others on the way there.”

“You were all together?”

“Not when the shooting began. We’d gotten separated, and the Greaters were launching tear gas canisters into the crowd. People were starting to panic and were trying to get out of the square, but the Greaters were closing in tighter.” He looked up at Blake. “It’s called _kettling_ , pushing demonstrators tighter and tighter together, not allowing them to disperse, even while you’re yelling at them to disperse. It’s really unsettling, because it’s not making any sense when it’s going on. Generating fear and panic was part of the strategy.”

Blake’s face was grim. “Then what?”

Danny stirred his coffee, remembering. “Then they started shooting at us.”

“While you were all trapped, and they weren’t letting you out.”

“Yeah.” He looked up and shrugged, a bitter smile on his face. “Mostly they were shooting over our heads, but we didn’t know that. Then a few of them fired into the crowd.” He rolled up his sleeve, and Blake saw the scar on his arm. “The bullet just grazed me, didn’t penetrate. I was lucky.”

Blake swallowed hard. “Was anybody killed?”

“Not that day, not there. They would have killed us, but somebody started shooting from a rooftop across the square, took out two Greaters in seconds. Kneecapped both of them.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“Not officially, but there’s pretty much only one guy who could do that. Of course I didn’t know it at the time.” He gulped his coffee. “A couple of days later, I started learning to forge documents, and then I learned to shoot. After that – well, it was just what we did.”

“And you didn’t worry about if you’d be able to kill another human being?”

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course I did. We all did, I think, even though not everybody talked about it. It was just that when the time came, it was shoot or be shot, and there wasn’t much time for reflection.’

“And you did it?”

“Yeah.”

“And it didn’t bother you?”

“Fuck, Blake, what are you trying to ask me? Did I like it? Of course not, but I wouldn’t have liked being dead, either. Do you want to know if I lie awake at night, overwhelmed by guilt? No, I don’t. I never shot anybody who wouldn’t have shot me if they’d had the chance.”

Blake nodded. “I’m trying to imagine what it would be like.”

“Don’t,” Danny told him. “Just learn to use the gun, and when you have to, your action will be automatic. Trust me, if somebody is pointing a gun at Maggie, you’re not going to have any crisis of conscience.”

Blake looked startled, and then his face changed as he saw it in a different way. “Yeah. Funny, it had never crossed my mind, that it might be Maggie’s life rather than mine that was being threatened. That alters the perspective.”

“Listen,” Danny said, “I’m not the most patient person in the world, and this was all long ago for me, so it seems obvious. It’s easy for me to forget that it wasn’t all simple for any of us.”

Blake nodded. “It’s fine, you’ve been … quite patient with me.” He smiled and asked a seemingly random question. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” Danny responded. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You seem so much older.”

Danny drank down the last of his coffee. “So I’ve been told,” he said without a trace of irony in his voice.

*          *          *          *          *

With help from Pascal, Danny had installed bookcases at both ends of the hall. At least, they looked like bookcases, but each one turned on a central pivot and acted as a door. They’d filled the one nearest the sitting room with books and a few odds and ends – a glass paperweight, a carved and inlaid box, and a small brass statue of Don Quixote mounted on Rocinante. The statue was on one of the upper shelves; to a casual observer, that would be to keep it away from Gabriel’s curious fingers, but actually, it was permanently attached to the bookcase and acted as a latch. Turned to the right, it unlocked the door, and allowed it to pivot open; turned to the left, it locked it, and the door could not be moved. At the far end of the hall was a similar bookcase that hid the stairs. Even if, through some unlikely chance, someone found the door hidden under the ivy, when they got to the top of the stairs, they would find only the back of the bookcase, which had been covered with plaster to look like a wall. It would seem like the unused stairs had been walled off.

“We did a damn good job,” he said after they’d finished arranging the books on the shelves. He and Patty were on the couch in the sitting room, and the bookcase just looked like part of the furniture.

“We did,” she agreed. “And now we have a hidden apartment where we could hide out, or hide other people if necessary.”

“We need to be sure there’s plenty of food stocked in there.”

“There’s quite a lot of canned goods, but you’re right, we need to have enough to live on for a while.”

“John had some papers …” Danny recalled, rubbing his forehead. “Alex brought them back from Headquarters. There was a name … Amy Simmons, that was it.”

“Who’s Amy Simmons?”

“She’s a dietician who works at Headquarters. The papers were all about nutrition and getting adequate protein without access to fresh food.” He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the papers in the white binder. “Most plant proteins are incomplete, so you have to eat the right combinations of plant foods to get all the amino acids that make up complete protein.”

He opened his eyes and saw Patty looking at him in confusion. “Rice and beans,” he said, grinning. “It’s a typical legume and grain combination that gives you all the amino acids you need. Peanut butter sandwiches will do the same thing, but we can’t stockpile bread.”

“What about crackers?” she asked, catching on quickly.

“Yeah, that would work.”

“I’ll put it them on the list.”

He had his arm around her and pulled her in closer. “How many lists do you have?”

She smiled. “A few, but don’t worry. I keep track.”

“Lots of canned fruit and vegetables, too,” he said, “especially tomatoes because of the Vitamin C.”

“Got it,” she nodded, then was quiet for a while. “Do you think we’ll need it?”

“I think there’s a good chance. Did you hear Chauvelin today?”

“Ranting about immigrants again? Is that all he ever talks about?”

“It’s the same thing King does – makes everybody scared of everybody else. A man with dark skin or a woman with a headscarf is going to destroy French culture, so don’t let them in.” He shook his head in disgust. “It’s even easier to sell here, because France is much smaller and immigration is a relatively new issue.”

“I saw on the news that another mosque was vandalized.”

“Makes me sick,” he said. “The guy Blake and I dealt with about the arms, Sébastien Bashir. His father was born in Libya, so he’s first generation French, and probably a Muslim. He’s in the Army, serving the country. How is he a problem?”

“I know.” She laced her fingers between his. “If Chauvelin has his way, Bashir won’t be allowed to stay in the Army.”

_“What?”_

“One of his proposals is that anyone in the military be of ‘French descent,’ whatever he means by that.”

“He means a brown guy named Bashir gets thrown out.”

“Maybe it will all come to nothing,” she said. “Maybe Chauvelin won’t get elected.”

“That’s exactly what we said about King.”

*          *          *          *          *

As usual, Blake stayed at Tom Wren’s house in Portsmouth the night before Jean-Pierre and Marcelle arrived with their truckload of guns and ammunition. Tom worked from home coordinating the shipments of “curtain hardware,” so it was convenient, and there was no sense calling attention to frequent travel by staying in hotels. Tom had grilled a couple of steaks, and they were finishing after-dinner drinks in the lounge of one of the thousands of nondescript terrace houses in Portsmouth. It was a smallish one even by terrace-home standards and always made Blake feel a little claustrophobic.

“So you think we should pay attention to what he says?” Tom was asking.

“I do,” Blake nodded. “He’s speaking from experience. Quite a lot of experience, it seems, and much of it involving actual combat.”

Tom held up his glass and looked at the level of liquid left in it, debating whether to get a refill. “I get the feeling you think we haven’t been taking this seriously enough.”

“You’re right. Danny has made me realize that, and he’s also made me see that we’re not doing nearly as much as we could be.”

“All right.” Tom put his glass down with some regret, and looked at Blake. “What changes are we making?”

“First, we’re all getting new ID documents. Danny and his girlfriend – or maybe she’s his wife, it’s not really clear – are handling those. The backstories we thought were so clever turned out to be quite hopeless when we were questioned as we might be if we were arrested. They’re being either extensively revised or just tossed in the rubbish, and we will learn our new backstories backward and forward.

“Fine, but we are unlikely to be arrested.”

“Things may change,” Blake pointed out. “I’m sure nobody in New York or Boston thought they were in danger of arrest a couple of years ago. And I’m certainly at some risk when I’m in Charleston.”

“True. So you’ve learned your new story?”

“I have. I’m sure he’ll be providing you with one soon.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully. “And you’re going to form a hunting club?”

“That will be what we call it. None of us are very good shots.”

“Your Danny is making it all sound much more … _immediate,_ it seems.”

“Yes. When he talks about some of what he’s experienced, I realize that we aren’t really doing much here. It’s all well and good to be outraged in letters to the _Times_ , but the people in the Movement need actual on-the-ground help now. It’s not a question of moral or even financial support, it’s a question of human beings living or dying.”

“More guns?”

“More guns, more money, more information.”

Tom finished his drink. “You won’t be surprised to know that I’m hearing the same from Abbie and John.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. There’s a sense of urgency that I’m getting from them. Apparently most of the Movement is now underground, and some groups are having a hard time just getting enough food. It will be worse in winter.”

Blake’s stomach twisted. It didn’t bear thinking about.  “We can’t exactly provide them with food.”

“I’m not so sure. Abbie tells me there’s an active black market over there. We need to look for someone unconnected with the Movement who wants to make a profit more than he wants to obey the law. She says you should bring that up with Frank Marion.”

“She thinks he’ll know somebody?”

Tom shrugged. “She’s always said Frank’s the smartest guy in the Movement, the best leader except for General Akhdir himself.”

“High praise. I’ll talk to him and see what I can do.”

“She also pointed out that the more black-market goods we bring in, the more damage it does to the economy.”

“And disruption of the economy will make it easier to bring down the government.”

“That’s the goal.”

“And of course all of this is approved by the PM?”

“Guilford?” Tom smiled. “I wouldn’t know. I was just having a conversation with a couple of foreign students.”

Blake snorted. “Of course. Are they in direct contact with Guilford?”

“Maybe. They tell me I don’t need to know.”

*          *          *          *          *

The captain of the _Cassiopeia_ was acquainted with Blake by now, as were several other officers of Constellation Cargo Carriers. They knew him as a somewhat eccentric traveler, a man who hated flying and enjoyed his solitude, so he bought transatlantic passage on cargo ships. He didn’t mind the ten days or so that the voyage took, and he didn’t expect to be entertained. There might be a handful of other paying passengers on any given ship, but Blake didn’t interact with them much. If he made conversation, it was likely to be with crew members, particularly those who didn’t speak English or French, so he could practice his Portuguese or Arabic or Afrikaans. When the ship docked in Charleston, South Carolina, he said a polite goodbye to the captain and disembarked, pulling his wheeled bag behind him.

He hadn’t gone far when he was met by a tall, lanky man with unruly dark hair. “How was the trip?” Pete Horry asked, holding out his hand.

Blake gripped Pete’s hand and smiled. “Same as ever. Lots of time to read and watch the ocean.” He followed Pete across the loading area through customs where an official took a perfunctory look at his passport and waved him through.

“Still no Wi-Fi on the cargo ships?” Pete asked.

Blake raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. Also, no bar and no evening entertainment.”

“Primitive conditions. I admire your dedication.”

“You should. I’m going to tell Frank that if any cargo has to go from west to east, you should be the one supervising.”

Pete laughed sardonically. “Believe me, we’ve got nothing to export. It’s not getting any better here.”

The smile left Blake’s face. “Bad?”

“Yeah, and not as bad as it’s going to get. We’re okay here – at least we have enough food, and even last winter conditions weren’t too bad. It’s worse up north.”

“You hear anything from New York?”

Pete gave him a questioning look. “This and that. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Liar.”

Blake huffed out a half-laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. I’d better talk to Frank about it.”

“Don’t tell me anything I don’t need to know,” Pete advised. “It would just get us both in trouble.”

Pete’s car was an ancient and rusty Chevy Malibu that might have been blue at some point in its history. Pete steered it skillfully through the crowded dock area and onto a four-lane highway.

“Who’s supervising the unloading?” Blake asked as they headed west.

“Oscar,” Pete responded. Oscar Marion was Frank’s cousin. “He’s got a new job.”

“He’s not an EMT anymore? What’s he doing?”

“He’s a customs agent.”

Blake’s jaw literally dropped. _“What?”_

Pete laughed. “Crazy, right? But Frank knows people who know people, and it seems like half of South Carolina owes him a favor for one thing or another, so Oscar’s checking incoming cargo now instead of doing emergency medical care.”

“How does he like it?”

“Oh, he hates it. He curses Frank every day for getting him into it, but he’ll do it as long as he has to if it supports the Movement.”

Blake shook his head. “Dedication.”

“Yeah, well, King’s government is vicious, and the fucking Greaters have more power every day, so we’re all doing what we can.”

“What’s changed lately?”

“It’s harder and harder to buy supplies of any kind. Food’s been rationed for a while, you know that, but now things like building supplies, lumber, nails, that sort of thing. You have to explain exactly what you’re using it for, and you can still be refused. If you’re a Deplo or even a Hope, you probably have trouble getting shoes, and the ones you do get wear out in a couple of months. There’s a light bulb shortage at the moment, although Frank says that’s temporary. For some reason, dishwasher detergent has pretty much disappeared, so we’re back to doing dishes by hand.” He made a restless gesture. “It’s all so random, you know? One week you can’t find toothpaste on the supermarket shelves, and the next week there are no socks in any of the stores. I mean, I know we’re actually part of the reason for it, since we do everything we can to disrupt transportation, but it’s not all us. Anyway, there’s a mad black market for practically everything. Of course, that only helps if you’ve got money.”

“Tom Wren was talking about that. There are some things I want to ask Frank.” Blake looked out the car window and realized they had left the city behind. “Where the hell are we?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Pete said. “Our squad isn’t exactly in Charleston anymore.”

“Really? Where are you?”

“We’re in the swamp along the Pee Dee. The mosquitoes are a bitch.”

“Great.”

“There’s some bug repellent in the glove compartment. Use it before you get out of the car.”

Blake sighed in resignation. Last time he had met with Frank it had been in a pleasant apartment in downtown Charleston. Things had definitely gotten worse.

*          *          *          *          *

Frank was currently quartered in what he called a double-wide. Blake wasn’t quite sure what that was, except that it was cheaply built and shabby. He was surprised to find that several other people were there when he and Pete arrived.

The first one out of his chair was a tall redhead. “Well, if it isn’t His Lordship,” he declared, clapping Blake on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “How are things across the pond?”

“Fine, thanks, TJ,” Blake responded without enthusiasm. “I’d really rather not use the title, though, so if you don’t mind …”

“Oh, sure, whatever you say,” TJ agreed, as if this were the first time Blake had mentioned it. “You remember Maddie, right?” he nodded toward a short, thin young woman with light brown hair and glasses.

Blake had a vague recollection of having seen her before. “Sure. How are you, Maddie?”

“Fine, thanks,” Maddie replied quietly, and sniffed as if she had a cold.

Frank waited for TJ to finish and then held out his hand to Blake. “Good to see you. How’s Maggie?”

“She’s fine,” Blake responded, smiling. “She says hello.”

Frank smiled back. He was as unlike TJ as it was possible to be, short, thin, dark, and soft-spoken, but his presence easily commanded the room. “I don’t think you’ve met Luke Pryor, have you?”

Luke Pryor had longish blond hair and looked very young, probably still in his teens. Blake shook his hand and then Frank said, “We’ll wait for Oscar to get here before we talk, so please help yourself to some dinner.”

Dinner was a simple meal of chicken and rice, with plain baked sweet potatoes on the side. Frank didn’t offer any drinks except water, and there was a noticeable absence of extras like butter and sugar. Everybody deliberately took modest portions, even TJ.

Conversation during dinner was general, with Maddie and Pete discussing electronics and black websites. It was evident that technology was Maddie’s area of expertise, as Pete asked her opinion on things several times. She looked shy and mousy, but she was clearly very intelligent. TJ and Frank were talking about transport issues when Oscar arrived. Like his cousin, Oscar was dark, but he was tall and looked like he worked out.

He looked around the room for Blake. “Hey,” he said, spotting him, “your cargo’s in.”

Blake gave him a thumbs up. “Great. Where’s it going?”

Oscar grinned. “You don’t need to know.”

“Right. I should remember that.” He had no idea how the guns and ammunition were distributed, or even if they were. Maybe the arms were being stockpiled for future action. He reminded himself that he wasn’t handling strategy here.

Once they cleared away the dinner dishes, Frank got everyone’s attention just by standing up. “I want to talk about something while Blake’s here, because he’ll probably be involved in it. As you all know, we’ve had some difficulty keeping all our squads supplied, and we anticipate that it will be worse when winter comes. We’re the farthest south of any group, so the winters here are relatively mild, but the Boston, New York, and Philadelphia squads had a rough winter last year, and it’s become even harder to get food and fuel. TJ, tell us how things are for those three squads.”

“Ethan and Seth have moved the Boston squad out of the city into the mountains to the west. They were too well known to stay around the Harvard campus, and Ethan was able to do what we did in Pennsylvania, find vacation cabins in the mountains that were no longer occupied. In both cases, they had belonged to Hope families who had fallen to Deplo level and could no longer pay taxes or utilities to keep them. Maddie handled that.”

Maddie continued the explanation. “We were able to hack into the property tax database, as well as the utility sites. The taxes and the utilities show as paid, even though no money changed hands. That way, in both Vermont and Pennsylvania, our squads are at least adequately housed, and they are in cabins that, as far as anyone can tell, belong to local families.”

Luke Pryor was frowning, as if this was unfamiliar. “So the Boston squad is in Vermont now?”

“Yes,” Maddie nodded, “in the Green Mountains. The Philadelphia squad is in the Poconos.”

Frank broke in. “I should probably explain that the Philadelphia squad is actually a combination of the original Philadelphia squad under the command of Tony Wayne, and what began as the New York squad under Alex Hamilton.”

Blake looked up attentively. “Alex Hamilton’s squad is no longer in New York?”

“Not all of it,” Frank said. He considered for a minute, then went on. “You probably know that Angelica and Eliza Schuyler were members of Alex’s New York squad. Their father, Philip, had been active in New York politics during President Washington’s administration. Last October, Philip Schuyler and his wife Catherine were arrested on suspicion of sedition. Angelica and Eliza were at college in New York City, but their two younger daughters were at home. Peggy was still in high school, and the youngest was just a baby. The night Philip and Catherine were arrested, Peggy managed to escape with her baby sister and get to New York. The Greaters had DCA warrants out on the three older girls …”

“Sorry,” Blake interrupted, “DCA?”

“Domestic Conspiracy Act,” Frank said bitterly. “Any family member over the age of twelve can be arrested for a crime committed by anyone else in the family.”

_“Twelve?”_ Blake gasped. “Jesus!”

“Yes, well, we all agree, but that’s the law. Anyway, at the time, TJ was in one of the Poconos cabins, so Alex got the two older Schuyler girls there safely. Peggy stayed in New York under a false name, pretending the baby sister was her daughter. However, that was a temporary arrangement, as TJ needed to get back to Norfolk. The General decided to move Alex into the cabin, and some of the New York squad followed – John Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan, along with the younger Schuyler daughters. The rest of them stayed in the city, and Nate Pendleton is in charge there.”

“And what about the Schuyler girls’ parents? What happened to them?”

Frank’s face grew bleak. “They’re dead.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read other works in this AU, you know who TJ and Maddie are. If not, you can probably figure it out, but I'll help if you need a hint.  
> Francis (Frank in this story) Marion, known as the Swamp Fox, was a Revolutionary War general who practically invented modern guerilla warfare. Many credit him with preventing the British from taking the southern colonies. Although Marion's troops were loosely organized, Peter Horry is generally considered his second in command. Oscar Marion was not, in fact, Francis's cousin, but was a slave belonging to the Marion family, hence using their surname. He was a part of Marion's unit as well, so I've given him a closer association with the Marion family. Luke Pryor was a captain in the South Carolina militia, where he also served as a quartermaster. He fought in at least one battle where Francis Marion was present, so I've put him in the Swamp Fox's squad. I have no problem adjusting actual history to suit my story.  
> The Pee Dee is a river in South Carolina. Francis Marion's camp was somewhere near Snow's Island in the Pee Dee.
> 
> Blake is learning a lot about what's really going on with the Movement. Up until now, he's really been a bit naive about it all. He and Frank Marion will soon be working on a plan to help get supplies to the Movement.  
> How much of what Blake learned about Alex's squad is he going to share with Danny and Patty?  
> Thanks to anyone who has commented or left kudos. I'd love to know what you think of this story.


	12. Local Merchants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank discusses a plan with Blake. Blake returns to France and reports to Danny, who understands more about the plan than Blake could. A coded message will be sent to Alex. Danny thinks about relationships.

Blake didn’t know the Schuyler girls, but Danny and Martine did. They were their friends. “How did Catherine and Philip Schuyler die?” he asked.

“The official report is that they were shot as they tried to escape,” Frank said, his voice bitterly sarcastic.

“Do you think that’s true?”

Frank threw up his hands impatiently. “It could be – or they could have been shot in prison in cold blood, or they could have died under torture. We’ll never know.”

 _Died under torture._ Blake’s stomach twisted, and he felt like he was going to be sick. “Is that information I can pass on to their friends in France?” he asked Frank.

Frank considered it for a minute. “It’s public knowledge,” he said. “Philip and Catherine Schuyler are seen as martyrs of the Insurrection. There’s no reason to keep it from them, if you think it’s information they should have.”

“I’m not sure. It’s not like they can do anything to help, but I think they’d want to know.”

Frank nodded. “The New York squad has always been exceptionally close.”

TJ snorted at that, and Frank turned to look at him silently, an eyebrow up. TJ flushed, coughed, and said, “Sorry.”

After a minute, Frank turned back to Blake. “I want to talk to you about getting more funds for the Movement. We are, as I’m sure you can imagine, perpetually broke. The guns are critically important, but we can’t use them until the Movement gains more members, and that won’t happen unless we have the financial resources we need to keep our communication lines open and to ensure that everybody has enough food. Right now the squads are fending for themselves in terms of food, clothing, and utilities. Mostly it’s being done by people like Maddie who use their hacking skills to make it look like bills are paid and to put money on gift cards, that sort of thing. It’s risky, and it can’t work long-term.”

“Oscar told me there’s a very active black market,” Blake said.

“There is,” Frank confirmed. “We all know black market dealers and fences, and we make as much money as we can, but it’s currently a small-time enterprise. We fence things like cigarettes or shoplifted jewelry. It helps, but it’s totally dependent on luck.”

“What kinds of things would bring in more money?” Blake asked.

Frank smiled faintly. “French wine, for one. Good jewelry and leather products from Italy, Swiss watches.”

“Luxury goods.”

“Yes. There’s also a black market in basic supplies like flour and sugar, but we couldn’t deal with them in the quantities we’d need to raise a significant amount of money.” Frank’s mouth twisted angrily. “What I’m proposing is that we supply rich Have citizens with more luxuries while Hopes and Deplos continue to go hungry, so that at some indefinite time in the future maybe the Hopes and Deplos will be able to afford to eat. It’s not, as I’m sure you understand, anybody’s first choice.”

Blake nodded slowly. “But it’s the long view.”

“Yes. The General is looking a year or two ahead, at least. We have to rebuild the Movement, train thousands more fighters, formalize the chain of command. We need money to do that.”

“And you think that if we bring in these luxury items, you’ll be able to find a black market dealer here who will handle the … uh, distribution for you? Someone who won’t reveal where the products came from?”

Frank shifted in his chair and exchanged looks with Pete Horry.

“We were hoping that, say, an independent British merchant with connections in France might want to set up this … business venture.”

Blake glanced around the room. “Funny, I seem to be the only British subject here at the moment, and strangely enough, I’m currently living in France.”

 _“Quelle coincidence,”_ Frank remarked in perfect French. He smiled at Blake’s surprise. “My grandfather was from France. My French is a little rusty, but I can get by. So, is this a project that you would be willing to undertake?”

“Yes,” Blake responded without hesitation. “We’re already getting help from both the British and the French governments in terms of weapons. I think we can also get the financial backing to set up an import business.” He thought for a few minutes. “I think the best thing to do would to register an actual business and to import a small quantity of moderately priced items, but then to use the framework of the business to bring in large quantities of the luxury goods you talked about. Ideally, we would connect with someone here who is already set up as an importer and who wouldn’t be averse to doing some additional business under the table.”

Frank smiled. “That’s exactly what we had in mind.”

“Great. Now all you have to do is find a local registered importer who is willing to engage in criminal activity.”

“We’ve already found one,” Frank said. “His name is Henry Laurens.”

*          *          *          *          *

Maggie had all the paperwork that needed to be filled out to register a hunting club. “Right,” she said, “I’m electing myself president of the club. That means I’m responsible for you lot following the rules.”

“What happens if we don’t follow the rules?” Roland asked.

“Well, it depends on which rule. If you bring in a friend who’s not a member and allow him to use a gun, there’s a stiff fine for you personally as well as for the club. If you take a gun off the property and use it to commit a crime, it’s prison time for you of course, but the club would also have its permit revoked, and I imagine we’d all be in serious trouble. I’m not concerned about any of that, though, because we’re all going to follow the rules, right?”

“Right,” Danny agreed. “The whole point of this is that everyone gets some shooting practice to become comfortable with handling a gun.”

“We’re not actually going hunting?” Antoine sounded a little disappointed.

“We could, I suppose,” Blake said. “I’m not interested in it, myself, but it would be legal.”

 _“Tu n’aimes pas le civet de lapin?”_ Antoine asked.

“Rabbit stew?” Blake shook his head. “Not so much.”

Danny thought about it. “If we actually have something besides paper targets to shoot at, we’ll improve faster. Antoine, if you want to make rabbit stew, we can keep you supplied with rabbits.”

Antoine grinned, and Martine reminded herself that these were wild rabbits, not Easter bunnies, and that anybody who ate meat at all had to come to terms with an animal being killed for it.

They each had to fill out an application for membership in the hunting club, and when that was finished, Maggie collected the papers. “I have to file the actual paper copies,” she explained. “They won’t take scans or photocopies. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Good,” Danny said. “Then we’ll go buy some legal guns.”

“That’ll be a nice change,” Blake muttered. He’d found in Charleston that everyone in Frank’s squad was as comfortable with a gun as Danny was. He’d only gotten back two days ago and hadn’t had a chance to catch Danny and Martine up on the news yet. He and Maggie stayed after the others left, and Danny poured out wine for the four of them.

“So what’s new in South Carolina?” Danny asked lightly, but his eyes were on Blake’s face.

“Quite a lot, actually,” Blake said. He glanced at his wife. “You okay with Maggie hearing all this?” he asked Danny.

“Yeah, but whatever it is that makes you ask that, let’s keep it among the four of us for now.”

“Okay. First thing, we’re going into the black market business.”

Danny nodded, not surprised. “Luxury goods?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Highest profit margin, and King won’t give us too much grief because we’ll be selling to Haves, and he wants them to stay happy. We can’t possibly sell food to Hopes or Deplos, not in quantities that would make any difference, so this is strictly a money-making venture, not a humanitarian one.”

“Pretty much the way Frank explained it. I’ll be talking to our government connections about getting funding, and then we might need somebody we could work with regularly in Italy.”

“Why Italy?”

“Frank suggested Italian leather goods and jewelry.”

Danny nodded. “Okay, good choices. What else?”

“French wine, Swiss watches.”

“Maybe not the wine.”

“Why not?”

“It’s harder to move, you’ll always lose some to breakage, and it’s bulkier. You can pack a lot of jewelry, watches, purses and gloves into a small space.”

“Okay, let’s leave the wine as an option, but we’re going to need a source in Italy before we can get started with that. You know anybody?”

Danny shook his head. “No one at all.”

“I’ll see what I can find out. There have got to be sympathizers to the Movement in Italy just as there are in France.”

“I’m sure. We just have to find them.”

Martine interrupted. “Danny, remember Cenzo in New York?”

“The pizza guy? Sure, but he left Italy decades ago …”

“Who’s Cenzo?” Blake asked.

“An older guy, close to sixty, an Italian immigrant in New York” Martine replied. “He owned a pizzeria, and we used to get pizza and sandwiches from him all the time.” She stopped, frowning and tapping her finger on the arm of her chair. “He has a brother …”

“Where?”

“I’m thinking. Na – John and I went to pick up pizza one time, and it wasn’t ready yet, so he was talking to us while we waited. His brother’s name was Paolo, I remember, and he said Paolo had a daughter that I reminded him of.”

“How about his last name and where Paolo lives?”

She rubbed her forehead. “Dammit, I know he told us where he was from. Wait, Milan! Because I thought at first he said _Mulan_ , like the Disney movie, and he laughed.”

Blake looked interested. “Milan’s only about a six-hour drive from here. I mean, it’s not right around the corner, but if you think this might be worth pursuing …”

Danny nodded. “Cenzo’s a good guy, and I know politically, he was with us. Of course, we know nothing about his brother, but it’s a start.”

“Paolo’s daughter’s name is Flavia,” Martine said suddenly. “I just remembered.”

“We still can’t just wander around Milan looking for guys named Paolo who happen to have daughters named Flavia,” Maggie reminded them.

“Alex would know Cenzo’s last name,” Danny said fretfully. “If I could text him … okay, yeah, I know, it’s just frustrating.”

“I can get a message to Frank,” Blake told them, “but I’d have to bury it pretty deep. I can’t say ‘Ask Alex the last name of Cenzo the pizza guy'.”

Danny choked off a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a bit obvious, and could get Alex and Cenzo both arrested. Hang on …” He turned to Martine. “John and Angelica used the names Sean and Allison Burns several times, right? When they had to play the roles of rich Have kids?”

“Right, when they got me out of that awful place in Pennsylvania, they came in as Sean and Allison. They were very good at it.”

“So you could use those names in a message?” Maggie asked.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, they can’t be traced. Alex has layers upon layers of protection on all the IDs. I don’t know how we code Cenzo’s identity, though.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” Martine said thoughtfully. “Maybe Blake can say something to Frank about … I don’t know … Sean and Allison’s favorite take-out restaurant near Sean’s apartment.”

“Okay, that would work. Now how do we ask for Cenzo’s last name?”

“We also probably shouldn’t mention Italy,” Martine pointed out.

Danny started riffing. “How about _Last time I talked to Sean and Allison they were raving about their favorite take-out place and said that the owner’s brother_ … Then what?”

Martine picked it up while Blake and Maggie watched intently. _“The owner’s brother has a similar place …_ um, _in this part of the world?_ Would that be enough?”

“Maybe. Frank’s going to have to send this on to Alex, and Alex should be able to figure it out.”

Martine nodded. “Okay, but maybe we should say _the chef’s brother_. Sean and Allison aren’t likely to go to a hole-in-the-wall pizzeria.”

“Right, good, _the chef’s brother has a similar … restaurant?”_

“Yes, _a similar restaurant_. Then … why wouldn’t you have made a note of the information, by the way?”

Danny smiled at her. “I did, but my phone crashed.”

“Oh, of course. How silly of me. You tell him _I lost the contact information when my phone crashed, so next time you see Sean or Allison_ …”

“Good. Keep it casual. We don’t want it to sound urgent.”

_“Next time you see Sean or Allison, can you ask them to text it to me?”_

“I think that sounds good,” Danny said.

“Walk me through what you just did,” Blake requested. “It was like you were speaking in another language.”

“That’s because we’re already familiar with the topic,” Danny told him. “Here’s our proposition: find Cenzo’s brother in Milan and see if he’s willing to work with the Résistance. What do we need? His full name and possibly his address. The name might be enough, but if he’s Paolo Russo, we’re out of luck.”

“Why?” Maggie asked.

“Russo’s the most common surname in Italy.”

Blake stared at him. “How …?”

Martine waved her hand. “He knows stuff like that. Just trust what he says and move on.”

“Okay,” Danny continued, “We want Paolo’s name and address, so we give Alex – because Alex will be the one who gets the message – clues. First, we use the names Sean and Allison, and Alex knows who we mean immediately. We mention their favorite take-out place, and Alex will almost certainly think of Cenzo’s, since John ordered pizza from there a couple of times a week for two years. Then we mention the chef – that’s Cenzo – and his brother who lives in _this part of the world_.”

“Wouldn’t they think you mean France?”

Danny shrugged. “Possibly, but everybody knows Cenzo’s Italian. At worst, they assume we mean Europe in general. Then we hope that somebody else has had enough of a conversation with Cenzo over the years that they know his last name and maybe more about his brother.”

“And how does Alex get the information back to Frank?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t know. If we’re lucky, they’ve got secure phones. If not, Alex will figure it out.”

“Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to go straight to Alex rather than through Frank?”

“Sure, but we have a direct, legitimate communication channel set up to Frank with the import thing.” Danny’s face changed, and he looked at a blank bit of wall for a minute. “I don’t even know where Alex is.”

“How long do you think it will take to get the information?” Blake asked.

Danny pulled his attention back to the immediate subject. “A while, but we’ll get it. In the meantime, what else do you have on the black market business plans?”

“I’m setting up the business under the name of Blaine Carson.” It was the ID Danny had constructed for him. “Frank has a local businessman in mind to deal with. He’s a licensed importer/exporter, so he’s already got the framework in place, and according to Frank, his primary goal is money. Frank says he’s corruptible, if not already corrupt.”

“Sounds like just the guy we need. How do you approach him?”

“Set up a meeting, show him some of our merchandise, drop hints about what corners I might be willing to cut, see if he takes the bait.”

“But Frank thinks he will?”

“Definitely. He’s already got a reputation for being a sharp trader. He’s also fabulously wealthy, but, you know, one of those guys who never has enough.”

“Sounds like President King himself.”

“He’s a personal friend.”

Danny frowned. “Really? And yet Frank thinks this is a good idea?”

“Absolutely. He said Henry Laurens will put money before friendship without hesitation.”

Danny froze. “Say that again.”

“He puts money before …”

“No, his name.”

“Henry Laurens.”

“Oh, my God.” He turned to Martine, whose eyes were wide and scared-looking.

“Is that …?” she whispered.

“Yeah. John’s father.” Danny got up and started pacing. “This is fucking nuts,” he said.

“What?” Blake was frustrated again. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“You’re positive he said Henry Laurens?” Danny asked.

“Yes, of course. We talked about him for a while.”

Danny looked at Martine. “The General wants to poke the hornet’s nest with a stick.”

She bit her lip. “You think he’d use John …?”

“Of course he would. Not to single John out, but he’d use anybody to help the Movement, and he’d be right. Sooner or later, he’s going to point to John and say, ‘King and his Haves are so despicable that John Laurens has taken up arms against his own father.’ _Jesus,_ that’s cold.”

There were tears in her eyes. “Danny, John doesn’t want people to know who his father is – and aren’t there younger kids that still live with his father?”

Danny nodded slowly. “Yeah, four of them. Damn.”

“Wait,” Blake broke in, “you’re saying that this corrupt businessman, Henry Laurens, is the father of your best friend, John Laurens?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think Frank knows?” Martine asked.

Blake answered that question. “Yeah, he knows. He said something about Henry Laurens loving money more than he loved his own son, and when I asked what he meant, he said that Laurens and the son were estranged because of the son’s progressive politics.”

“That’s an understatement,” Danny said, “and, anyway, there’s a lot more to the story.” He didn’t know the whole story; nobody did, but he’d picked up enough from John to know that his father had been abusive and cruel.

There was a long silence. It was Maggie who broke it. “What if there’s a bigger plan that we don’t need to know? What if this black market scheme is a way to get an inside channel to President King’s friend Henry Laurens so that at some time in the future the Movement can bring him down?”

“Use him against King, you mean?”

Maggie nodded. “He’d be open to blackmail if he’d sold black market goods for the Movement.”

“We don’t betray him to King if he gives us information, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Danny took a breath. “It’s brilliant.”

Martine grabbed his arm. “But what about John? One way or another, he’ll get hurt by this.”

“Yeah, he will. But he’ll understand why we’re doing it.”

Martine covered her face with her hands. “I hate all this.”

Danny put his arms around her and held her for a minute. “Me too. We all hate hurting good people, but we aren’t the ones who started this fight.”

She took a step back and looked up at him. “No. We’re the ones who will finish it.” She managed a faint smile.

Danny smiled back. “Damn straight.”

*          *          *          *          *

Gabriel had taken a long nap, so he wasn’t ready to go to bed at his usual bedtime. Danny had read _Goodnight, Moon_ and _Je t’aimerai toujours_ , but Gabriel had gone back to the bookshelf and pulled out an alphabet book, and finally, somewhere between _P is for piano_ and _S is for snake,_ he had fallen asleep. Danny stood beside the crib, looking down at him, thinking about fathers and sons and wondering what the hell was wrong with a father like Henry Laurens or, for that matter, his own father. He rarely gave a moment of conscious thought to Al Phoenix, gone before his son reached his second birthday. He had no memory of him; whatever part of his mind should have held that image was just negative space. He’d managed without him, thanks to his mom, who did her best, but mostly to Tim, who became the role model of what a grown man should be. He ran his hand lightly over Gabriel’s soft blond curls. “I’ll love you forever,” he whispered.

Patty was waiting for him in bed, checking over one of her lists on her phone. She looked up as he came in and gave him a smile. He was struck again with sheer gratitude. She was his, and Gabriel was theirs, and whatever battles might lie ahead, they were in this together. He kissed her and said, “I won’t be long. Stay awake for me?”

Her smile grew brighter. “Of course.”

He took a quick shower and toweled off, didn’t bother with clothes, and climbed into bed. She’d put her phone away and tucked herself under the covers. The nights were getting cooler. He pulled her close and chuckled. “Oh, my gosh, what became of your pajamas?”

“I think they’re on the floor,” she told him. “At least, I kicked them in that direction.”

He was running his hand up and down her back, feeling how soft she was. “Thank you for saving me the trouble,” he said, his lips against her throat.

“You’re welcome.” She turned her head so that she could kiss him, opened her mouth for his tongue, and sighed, sliding her arms around him.

He cradled her head in his left hand, his fingers twined in her hair, kissing her while his right hand found her breast. He ran his thumb over the nipple, and she whimpered and arched up to him. He took his time finishing the kiss, caught her bottom lip lightly between his teeth, then kissed his way down until he could take her nipple in his mouth and flick it with his tongue. He did that until her hips began to twitch, and then moved to the other side and brought his hand back so where it had been, rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pressing the other against his top teeth with his tongue.

“Oh, God, Danny,” she gasped.

“Hm?” he murmured, continuing exactly what he’d been doing.

“That’s so good.” She was trying to get her hand on him but couldn’t reach, so she scraped her nails up his spine to his neck, and he got his knee between her legs. She rubbed herself against him, ran her nails back down, past his waist, and he gasped, letting go of her breasts and pushed himself up on all fours. She was looking up at him, her eyes wide and dark and expectant.

“You are so fucking hot,” he said. She spread her legs wide and tried to get her fingers on her clit, but he grabbed her hand. “And so damned independent,” he added. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“Do it for me, then,” she told him.

He smiled at that and ducked his head down, opened her with his thumbs and began to lick slow circles on her clit. Her hips jerked, and she drew in a long, ragged breath. He kept going, got two fingers in her to find her slick and hot. He moved his tongue faster. She pushed herself into his mouth, her hands on his shoulders, unconscious of her nails digging into his skin, trying to anchor herself. His fingers were moving inside her, and he scissored them as wide as he could, stretching her. She shot over the edge, wailing, pressed tight against his mouth as he worked her through it, until she pulled away, trembling.

He held her as she came down, kissed her softly. “You told me to do it for you,” he said.

She looked up at him, traced his face with her finger. “Danny …”

“Hm?”

“How are you so amazing?”

“I’ve been highly motivated to learn …” He kissed her again.

“You have to be good at everything you do.”

“Yeah.”

“Not just good, though. You want to be the best.”

He smiled. “But look what I get for it.”

“What?”

“I get to feel you come – to know I can do that, that what I do makes you feel like that … I want to do it over and over. I want to figure out every way there is of making you come. I want to make you come so hard that it curls your toes and rattles your teeth. I want to make you beg for more and then give you so much more that you scream. I want you to know deep in your soul that nobody else could ever fuck you like I can. I want to wreck you completely, so that you’re exhausted and shaking from it, and then I want to hold you while you come down, feel your body go limp in my arms, feel you melt from what I did to you. That’s what I want to do. Every single time.”

“Oh, God,” she gasped, overwhelmed. “Please …”

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

“Everything.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry Laurens was probably not the evil villain I have made him out to be in this AU. That being said, he was a partner in the largest slave-trading enterprise in the colonies; that is, his job, his BUSINESS that brought his family extreme wealth was that of buying and selling human beings. His son John was a fervent abolitionist. I have tried to imagine conversations between them, and I don't know where to begin. I have no problem, though, in imagining Henry Laurens as a man who values money before all else. I may not be fair to him, but dammit, my first loyalty lies with John.  
> You begin to see some of the intrigue and manipulation that is a different kind of warfare from sniping from rooftops.  
> When Danny says to Gabriel, " I'll love you forever," he's saying the title of the French children's book that he just read to him. It's a real book, and it's lovely.  
> Danny has learned a lot in the last year and a half or so.  
> Thanks so much to all who leave kudos and especially comments. They motivate me to keep writing!


	13. Heed Not the Rabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake gives Danny and Patty some bad news. Chauvelin welcomes help from Diane Plumier, who makes her racist views clear. Everybody practices shooting. A birthday passes. We get a glimpse of the squad in the cabin. Patty gets a letter.

She sat with Gabriel asleep on her lap, watching Danny explain the rules of the hunting club to everybody. _If anyone walked in, they’d know immediately that he was the one in charge,_ she thought. _What was it about him that made it obvious?_

It was more the way the others looked at him than it was anything he did. She remembered the same thing with Alex. Everyone else waited for Alex’s opinion. John or Gil or Angelica might question him, but they always listened to him first, and he had the final word. That was the way it was with Danny now. They were debating where to set up a shooting range, and Danny was managing the discussion so skillfully that they didn’t realize he’d already decided. She smiled, well aware that he’d done that in conversations with her. She’d called him out on it a couple of times, and he didn’t argue. He would just smile and explain his point of view. He was usually right because he looked at all angles carefully before he made up his mind.

“How much time are you expecting us to put in?” Roland asked.

“To start, a few hours a week. It’s going to be easier for some of you than for others, just like anything else. You need to be able to hit the target twenty-five times out of forty for minimum competence. I’m hoping you’ll all do better than that.”

“What’s your score?” Antoine inquired curiously.

“Now? Probably about that. I’ll be shooting with you because I’m out of practice.”

“What was it then,” Antoine pursued, “in New York, when you were shooting regularly?”

Danny smiled. “I was pretty good.”

“What were the numbers?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Antoine glanced around at the others. “I think we all want to know what our goals should be.”

“Okay, then, thirty-six on a bad day.”

“Well, shit. You were the best marksman in the squad?”

Danny smiled again. “Oh, no. Gil and John were both better than me, and Angelica was at least as good.”

“You expect us to do that well?”

“I expect you all to work at it. I expect everybody to achieve minimum competence, and then we’ll see who can do better. Part of it, by the way, is that we don’t waste ammunition. Right now we’ve got plenty, but in New York that was a factor in getting everyone to hone their skills.”

“We always hear it’s easy to get firearms over there,” Suzanne said, “but there must be some controls in place.”

“Oh, yeah,” Danny responded. “It’s always varied by state, but up until a few years ago, it was relatively easy to get guns, especially hunting rifles. It got a lot tougher under King, at least for most of us. Alex had the good sense to see the changes in the laws coming, so he and John and Gil bought a lot of guns early on, and then they stole some more.”

Blake’s eyebrows went up. “From where?”

“A police armory. They stole guns and a lot of ammunition. That was right after I met them. John got shot that day.”

“But he was okay?”

“Yeah, Gil took him to a hospital and came up with some bullshit cover story.” He paused and thought back. “John got shot a couple of times. He’s always in front of everybody else.”

He reviewed the arrangements they had made to store the firearms in one of the unused old stone outbuildings on the castle grounds. Pascal had done some minor repairs, then hung a sturdy new door with a modern lock. There was a large grassy area near it where they would set up targets, and shooting practice would begin on Saturday.

Blake and Maggie stayed behind after the others left. Gabriel was awake by then, so they went upstairs to the sitting room, where everything was baby-proofed.

“I think you should go to England with me next trip,” Blake said to Danny.

Danny nodded slowly. “Okay. Any particular reason, or just to see what goes on there?”

“Well, that certainly, but also, you should get to know Tom Wren and see what he’s doing. And maybe you can meet with Abbie and John.”

“Yeah, I should probably do that. Let me know when.”

“There’s another thing,” Blake said, his voice hesitant.

“What?”

Gabriel handed Danny a small toy car and said, “ _Vroom_.”

Danny looked down at him, suitably impressed. “That’s right, cars go vroom.”

Gabriel gave a practical demonstration, sliding the car on the floor and making vrooming noises. “If you get more cars, they can have a race,” Danny suggested.

Gabriel frowned in concentration, then went to his toy box to look for more cars.

“Sorry,” Danny said to Blake, “what were you about to say?”

“It’s not good news,” Blake said.

Maggie got up and went to sit next to Martine on the couch.

Danny’s mouth went dry, but Martine managed to get a few words out. “Who? Who is it?”

“Nobody in your squad,” Blake assured them hastily.

_Not John. Not Alex or Gil or Herc or Angelica or Eliza._

Danny swallowed hard. “Another squad? Tony? Sybil?”

Blake shook his head. “No. It’s the Schuyler girls’ parents. They’re both dead.”

Martine’s eyes filled and overflowed. “How?”

Blake told them what Frank had told him.

“Fucking Greaters,” Danny said when he had finished. “Those girls adored their parents.”

“So did Alex and John,” Martine added.

Danny nodded, remembering John’s jokes about Catherine Schuyler loving him best. “Yeah, and the baby sister, Katie, she’ll never even remember them now.”

“They’ll all take care of her, though,” Martine said. “They were all going to help me with the baby. They’ll look after Katie.”

 _That was all well and good,_ Danny thought, _but what kind of a life must that be for Katie herself?_ They were already hiding out in some remote cabin somewhere, and Frank had talked about food shortages. How could anybody take care of a baby under those circumstances? He looked at Gabri playing with his cars on the floor, and gave silent thanks for his safety.

*          *          *          *          *

They watched Chauvelin hold another rally on TV, heard him give a speech that sounded reasonable until you thought about it.

“Reminds me of those ‘Loving Moms and Dads’ that King sent out,” Danny said. “They made all their homophobic bullshit sound normal. It wasn’t until they were done that you realized what hateful things they’d been saying through their smiles.”

“Loving Moms and Dads?” Suzanne asked, an expression of distaste twisting her mouth.

“Yeah,” Martine responded. “They looked so nice and wholesome, but they were poisonous. They’d tell parents to send their kids to conversion therapy.”

“And did they?” Aiden asked.

“Some did,” Danny said. “They never came home.”

Maggie went pale. “You think … what do you think happened to them?”

“I don’t know. Anything’s possible – prison, concentration camps, firing squads. King is brutal, and the Greaters carry out his orders.”

Aiden leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “What about ordinary gay people, adults, were they hassled?”

“Hassled quite a lot,” Danny told him. “King’s people revived the old myth that gays prey on children. I … I ran into a problem there myself.”

Martine shot him a quick look of sympathy, but Aiden frowned. “But you’re not gay.”

“No, and neither is the guy I was supposedly having a relationship with, but rumors were started to cause trouble for him. If you keep denying something long enough, people stop believing you. You know, that whole _no smoke without fire_ thing.”

“What happened?” Maggie asked.

Danny shook his head in dismissal. “I’m here, and he’s somewhere else, that’s all. The people who started the rumors don’t know where we are. Maybe they even think they drove us away.”

Maggie’s eyes were on him, her face troubled. “It was someone you were close to.”

 _Close to Tim? Yeah, you could say that._ Danny took a breath. “Yeah, they took advantage of that to start the rumors. King’s people are evil, not stupid. They use everything they can.”

“You miss him,” Maggie said softly.

Danny glanced at her and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. His mouth twisted briefly, and he turned back to the TV. “Oh, look,” he announced, “Diane Plumier is the guest speaker.”

“Maggie’s godmama,” Roland reminded them unpleasantly.

“Fuck you,” Blake snapped.

“Knock it off,” Danny told them sharply. “Roland, there’s no need at all to repeat what we already know, and if your purpose is anything other than to make Maggie feel uncomfortable, I can’t imagine what it might be.”

“Okay, sorry,” Roland said. “I won’t mention it again.”

“And, Blake,” Danny continued, “don’t let him bait you like that. It’s a game he plays.”

Roland flushed and broke in before Blake could say anything. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Danny responded calmly. “You like to get a rise out of people, stir things up. I get that, I’ve done it myself if things were boring, but here and now, it’s off limits. We aren’t really a group of friends getting together socially. Maybe you were once; maybe we all will be at some point in the future, but for now we need to remember what our purpose is. To that end, let’s listen to Madame Plumier.” He turned up the volume on the TV.

“It is as if Rouget de Lisle was a prophet,” Diane Plumier was saying. “He wrote of the ferocious soldiers invading our peaceful countryside, wrote of them coming right into our arms. Don’t we see that every day? Don’t we see here, not only on the streets of our cities, but even in the small villages of rural France, don’t we see French girls in the arms of foreign men? How many brown bastards are born of those relationships?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Danny said, his eyes fixed on the TV screen.

“And just as Rouget de Lisle tells us,” the elegant well-groomed woman continued, “once we allow them in, they will cut the throats of our sons.”

The crowd around Diane Plumier was cheering and surging toward her, as police tried to keep order. The reporters’ voices were tense as they attempted to mitigate her words by talking about “historical context.”

“Let us march!” Diane Plumier called out, raising her right hand in a fist. “Let us march and water the fields of France with their mongrel blood!”

Her words were drowned out by the cheering, and the station cut to a commercial. Danny hit the mute button on the remote, and there was dead silence in the room.

“My God,” Martine said. “Who’s Rouget de Lisle? What in the world was she quoting?”

It was Antoine who answered. “Rouget de Lisle wrote _la Marseillaise_. She was quoting the lyrics of our national anthem.”

*          *          *          *          *

Pascal set up the shooting range well away from the castle itself. The targets were lined up on a grassy area on the edge of the woods. It wasn’t a very sophisticated arrangement, but it would do for now.

Danny went out by himself as soon as everything was ready and spent an afternoon practicing with both his handgun and his rifle. He wasn’t as rusty as he thought he’d be, and after a couple of hours, he was getting close to the level of accuracy he’d had in New York. He knew perfectly well that a gun was a dangerous thing to love, and yet, the feel of it, the shape and the weight of the pistol in his hand, the pressure of the rifle against his shoulder, felt familiar and comforting. John had warned him that it might lead to a false confidence, the foolish belief that if he had a gun, he was safe, but it never had. He was well past that possibility now, but he still wanted to hold the gun.

He tried to talk to Martine about it that night after Gabriel was asleep and they were sitting on the couch. “You know how Gabri likes to hold on to Puppy?” he asked. “That’s how I feel about guns.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “If you’re telling me you want to bring a gun to bed with you, I have some objections.”

“Even if it’s unloaded?”

She was sure he was joking. Almost sure. “If it’s unloaded, it’s not much use.”

He sighed. “Right. And uncomfortable to sleep on.”

Definitely joking. “Maybe I can find you a gun plushie.”

He laughed. “That would be pretty weird.”

She was a little unsettled by the whole conversation, but she smiled. “The sort of thing that might bring attention to us?”

“Yeah.”

There was a minute or two of silence, and then, “Danny, are you going to teach Gabriel to shoot?”

He took both her hands and looked down into her eyes. “Yes. Not till he’s much older, but I want him to …” He looked away. “We don’t know what the world will be like when he’s grown. I hope it’s better, but there are things he should know.”

Her hands tightened on his, and he turned back to her. She said what he was about to say: “Because you won’t lie to him.”

“That’s right. I won’t lie to anyone I love.”

She leaned against his shoulder, her eyes dark. “How old is old enough?”

“I can’t say, really. Maybe fifteen?”

“Because you were fifteen?”

“Yeah, but maybe he won’t be ready until he’s sixteen. Or maybe he’ll be old for his age, and we can start talking about these things when he’s fourteen. Not soon, though, sweetheart. We’ve got time.”

She nodded. “I wish …”

“I know.” He bent to kiss her.

*          *          *          *          *

When they all began practicing at the shooting range in earnest, Danny could see almost immediately who had the natural hand-eye coordination and steady nerves that were needed for real marksmanship. Antoine was the best beyond any doubt, with Aiden a close second. Blake, Maggie, and (to Danny’s unspoken pride) Martine followed, then Roland, and finally Suzanne. Suzanne was well above average, though, and after a month of practice, there was no doubt that all of them could handle guns when and if they were needed.

Martine’s twenty-first birthday came and went without notice being taken by anyone except Danny, who quietly gave her a small box when they were alone in the evening.

“I thought we weren’t celebrating,” she said. “Keeping our actual birth dates hazy, that sort of thing.”

“Right,” he agreed. “That’s why I waited until now.”

“Answer for everything,” she murmured, as she opened the box. “Oh, _Danny_ …” It was a gold necklace. Centered on it was a round opal, her birthstone, in a circle of diamonds. She stared at it, speechless.

He gave her a minute before he asked, gently, “Do you want to try it on?”

She nodded, still not trusting herself to speak. He fastened it for her as she stood in front of the mirror, and then he kissed her throat where the diamonds sparkled.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said finally.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? It’s perfect. I never thought …” She stopped and swallowed hard. “This sort of thing wasn’t in any plans I had.”

“Sweetheart, none of this was in any plans we had.” He made a sweeping gesture to encompass everything. “We live in a castle, and we have a little boy, and I am madly in love with you. Oh, and Gil keeps dumping more money than I know what to do with in my bank account, and also we’re  working on a smuggling operation to supply the black market, and … what am I forgetting?”

“Guns?”

“Right. We know how to shoot, and we’re supporting what President King would call treason. This would have been pretty hard to foresee a few years ago.”

She laughed a little unsteadily, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He still had to bend down, but they managed, and she said, “Thank you. I love it.”

She wore it a few days later when they went out to dinner with Julien and Sophie. That was part of the new life too – fine restaurants and elegant clothes and knowing which wine to choose. Nobody who’d known Patty Manning would see her in Martine Manet, nor would they recognize her sophisticated, self-assured date as the wise-cracking teenager Danny Phoenix. Their cover was so deep now that they no longer had to even think about it.

They didn’t forget who they were though. Danny’s daily prayers always included a plea to care for their friends in hiding. There had been no word since Blake had been to Charleston, but it was cold now – Thanksgiving would be celebrated this week – and there was no way to know if Alex and John and the others had enough food from day to day, let alone enough for a feast. Danny was pretty sure they didn’t.

*          *          *          *          *

_John knew Alex would still be awake. He found him sitting on the couch wrapped in two blankets, tapping a phone as if he could make it magically produce a bank account. He sat down next to him and pulled one of the blankets over himself._

_“I’m cold,” Alex snapped irritably._

_“I know.” He put his arm around Alex’s shoulder._

_“Fucking firewalls.” Alex put down the phone and rubbed his eyes. They were shadowed with dark circles, and like everybody except Katie, he’d lost weight, and his face was thin. Too thin. John stroked his hair and waited. Finally he asked, “What do we have left?”_

_“Some rice, some barley, enough for a few meals if we’re careful,” John told him. As if they hadn’t been careful for months now. “Some dry milk.”_

_“That’s for Katie.”_

_“I know. I’ve got about a cup of dry kidney beans, two cans of tomatoes, and enough oatmeal for three days if we ration everybody to half a cup. That’s it.”_

_“So maybe three or four days.” Alex did his best to sound hopeful. “I might be able to hack some money onto a card in three or four days.”_

_“Or you might not. It’s been harder, you said.”_

_“Yeah.” Alex bit his lip._

_“Listen,” John said, still running his fingers through Alex’s hair, “I talked to Gil …”_

_“I know what you’re going to say. I told you last time you brought it up ...”_

_“Last time I brought it up, we had more food. I don’t see that we have much choice now.” He took a deep breath. “We’re in the fucking woods, Alex, there’s animals out there.”_

_“The ammunition …”_

_“We can’t eat bullets.”_

_Alex put his head in his hands. “What if somebody hears the shots?”_

_John shrugged. “Probably they think some hungry Deplo is out hunting food for his family. You think the woods are crawling with Greaters? If anybody hears us, they’re out for the same reason we are. We’re not the only ones running out of food.”_

_“Who goes?”_

_“Me and Gil, nobody else. I know how to track a deer, and Gil can hit anything.”_

_“You know how to …” Alex made vague slashing gestures._

_“Dress a deer? Fuck, yeah. Remember I told you my father made me learn to hunt? We get a deer, it’ll feed us and Tony’s squad for days. It’s cold enough out that we can hang the meat for a while.”_

_Alex looked like he might throw up._

_John took his hand. “It’s no different from eating a hamburger, babe.”_

_“I know, I know.” He thought of something. “We won’t let Katie see anything.”_

_“Of course not.” City kids, John thought. As much as he’d hated hunting when he was fifteen, at least he wasn’t sentimental about it. Of course, his father had hunted for sport, not food. John wouldn’t do that. It was one of many ways he was different from his father._

_Alex turned and looked up at him. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it would get this bad. You could have stayed in New York.”_

_“Without you? Without Eliza? You’re out of your goddam mind.” John was the only one of them designated Have. With his father’s name and money, he could have been living a life of wealth and privilege in New York City instead of being cold and hungry in a poorly-heated cabin in the Pocono Mountains. John had thrown in his lot with the Movement, though, and joined his friends in their plan to bring down the government of President King. His arm tightened around Alex’s shoulder. “We knew it would be hard. We’ll have a roast venison dinner in a day or two. That will help.”_

_“You’ll be careful about the ammunition, right” Alex asked fretfully._

_“Basta, mi amor,” John said. “You have to trust us.”_

_“I do, of course I do.” He was chewing on his lip again._

_“If you don’t stop that, you’ll make it bleed,” John told him gently, and leaned in to kiss him. He could give Alex other things to do with his mouth. After a while, he pulled back and said, “Let’s unfold the couch and go to bed.”_

_Alex was the one who slept on the fold-out couch in the small living room. John, Herc, Angelica and Eliza shared the bunk room, and Gil, Peggy, and Katie were in the other small bedroom. They stood up and opened the couch, and Alex pulled the pillows and his flannel pajama pants out of the old trunk that served as a side table._

_“You putting more clothes on?” John asked, his eyebrow up._

_Alex smiled faintly. “Maybe not yet.”_

_John gave him a brief kiss and jerked his head toward the bunk room. “I’ll go see if she’s awake.”_

_She was. She’d heard John get up a little while earlier, and she knew Alex would be up late stressing over things, as he so often did. When John came in now, opening the door quietly, she held out her hand and he took it, pulled her up gently. She smiled in the darkness and followed him, wrapping her blanket around her. John closed the door behind them silently, and they joined Alex on the couch. There was just enough room for the three of them if they lay close together, but that was exactly what they wanted tonight, Alex in the middle because he needed to be comforted, but John leaning across him to kiss Eliza, and Eliza reaching to keep her hand on John._

_“You’re so soft,” Alex murmured as she pressed against him. He kissed her throat as John rubbed his shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension. Their legs were tangled together beneath the blankets, and Alex sighed as he began to relax under their hands._

_“It’ll be all right,” Eliza whispered. “We’ll get through it together.” She kissed him and stroked his hair. John’s hand caught hers, and they both wrapped their arms around him, holding him and holding each other in the cold night._

_*          *          *          *          *_

“Martine, you have mail today,” Julien said at dinner.

She looked up, startled, then glanced at Danny. His eyes were on Julien, who was holding out an envelope. “Pascal brought it up with the other mail, but I didn’t realize there was anything for you until just now.”

She took the envelope from him a little warily, as if she expected it to disintegrate in her hands, and examined it closely.

“Return address?” Danny asked.

“I can’t read it,” she told him. “It looks like something got spilled on it.” She showed it to him. Her name and address were written clearly enough, but the return address was smeared and illegible. She understood the look on his face perfectly. “I’ll open it later,” she said, and went back to eating dinner.

They waited until Gabriel was asleep, and then they sat down at the desk with a bright light and a magnifying glass, first carefully examining the envelope.

“Can you read the postmark?” Danny asked.

She took the magnifying glass and tried to make it out. “It could be Philadelphia,” she suggested cautiously.

They looked again at the return address, but even with magnification, they couldn’t make it out. “I think that was blurred deliberately before it was mailed,” Danny said.

When they couldn’t get any more information from the envelope, Martine cut it open neatly with a brass letter-opener. The letter inside was brief, just one side of one sheet of paper. It was in French, and the handwriting was very bad, small, cramped, and uneven, so that the m’s, n’s, u’s, and i’s all looked alike. It took them more than half an hour to decipher it, and when they finally got it done, it still didn’t make sense.

_Chère Martine,_

_merci de ta lettre, j’espère bientôt Rencontrer ton très gentil Frère, dis-lui bonjour de ma part –  moi, on travaille comme d’habitude, je viens de corriger 128 copies des élèves, c’est pas amusant, j’ai commencé au Crépuscule, et j’ai fini à minuit. dis à ton frère que nous allons visiter tous les musées, la Cathédrale, et le centre-Ville quand il arrivera, je tiens à le connaître, je dois finir, quelqu’un frappe à la Porte._

_Je t’embrasse,_

_Vincent_  
  


Danny stared at it for a while, racking his brain. “I’ve seen that handwriting,” he said.

She turned to look at him. “Whose?”

He shook his head impatiently. “I can’t … let me think.” He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the writing in another context … it had been lined paper, a spiral notebook … “Alex,” he said. “It’s Alex’s writing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. He didn’t write much down because he kept most notes in his phone, but he gave me a list of names.”

“And he signed this Vincent. Is that supposed to make sense?”

“Well, it’s Alex, so however he’s coded this is going to be complicated. It’s got to be important, though, really important, for him to send it.” He got out a piece of paper and translated it into English.

_Dear Martine,_

_Thanks for your letter, I hope to meet your very nice brother soon, tell him I say hello – I’ve been working as usual, I just corrected 128 student papers, it’s not fun, I started at dusk, and I finished at midnight. Tell your brother that we’re going to visit all the museums, the cathedral, and downtown when he gets here, I look forward to meeting him, I have to go, somebody’s knocking on the door._

_Love,_

_Vincent_

They both read it over a few times.

“I don’t have a brother,” Martine said, pointing out the obvious.

“No kidding – but your non-existent brother seems to be the focus of the letter.”

“He’s going to visit Alex … is Alex telling us about somebody coming to visit him?”

Danny shook his head. “I don’t think so, if only because that’s exactly what’s on the page. And then what is this nonsense about him correcting students’ papers, as if he were a high school teacher? No, whatever this is about, it’s not about what it says. There’s some sort of a code here, and I can’t see it.”

“What do you mean, you can’t see it? Can’t see what?”

He sighed. “It’s not just that I don’t know what it means. I can’t figure out how the code is embedded in the letter, and until I can do that, I can’t crack it.”

“So now what?”

“Now I have to prove something I’ve said quite a few times.”

“What’s that?”

“That I’m as smart as Alex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diane Plumier's allusions to "la Marseillaise" are accurate, but don't yell at the French until you've read the full text of your own national anthem, whatever that may be. I'm sure some are perfectly blameless, just nobody throw stones when you might be standing in a glass house.  
> Things don't seem to be going well for the squad in hiding. Are they going to get some food?  
> I left the code unbroken, but you may be able to figure it out. It's probably easier to get it if you're reading it in French, and it helps to remember what the last communication to Alex was about.  
> Much thanks always for kudos and comments, which really help motivate me. Also, I love questions, which often show me what direction my readers want the story to go. Let me know!


	14. Your Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny and Patty decipher Alex's coded letter and act on its instructions. New contacts are made. Assumptions made by others give Danny something to think about.

“ _Vincent,_ ” Danny mused. “Why is it Vincent?”

“You’re sure the name has to be significant?” Martine asked, staring at the letter in French side-by-side with their translation.

“Yeah, I do. If not, he would have signed it with a name we’d recognize, Jean or Gilbert, or with something generic like _ton ami._ He picked Vincent for a reason.” He paced back and forth, thinking. “We’re absolutely sure we don’t know anybody named Vincent?”

“I’m positive.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a reference to a famous person named Vincent, like … Van Gogh?”

Martine looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Why in the world would Vincent Van Gogh have anything to do with this?”

Danny didn’t answer her question. He was pacing again, reciting all the information he could remember about Van Gogh. “Post-Impressionist, bipolar, lots of bright colors, painted sunflowers, in love with Gauguin, always broke, cut off his ear, committed suicide …” He stopped and turned around. “Van Gogh seems like a dead end, no pun intended, and I can’t think of any other famous Vincent who would be obvious enough that we’d catch on. Anyway, even Alex wouldn’t be that obscure.” He picked up the letter in French and reread it. “Vincent, _Vincent._ It’s one of those names that’s spelled the same in English and in French, like Daniel or Charles, but the pronunciation is different … oh, wait a minute.” He typed something into his laptop, scrolled down, and then turned to Martine with a grin. “The name Vincent is _Vinzent_ in German, _Vicente_ in Spanish, and guess what in Italian?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, of course!”

 _“Vincenzo,”_ Danny read from the screen. “Common diminutives are Enzo or Cenzo. Whatever else is going on, this letter is about Cenzo.”

“Cenzo’s brother,” she corrected him. “That’s why the letter is focused on a brother.”

He grabbed her and spun her around. “I love that you’re so damned smart,” he said.

She laughed. “Right, boy genius.”

“Are you going to call me that forever?”

“Yes, yes, I am. When you’re eighty-five, I’m still going to be referring to you as a boy genius.”

He started tickling her, feeling a little giddy from having figured out part of the message. She pretended to try to get away, but within a minute, they were lying on the couch, kissing.

“We should celebrate all progress in code-breaking this way,” she told him.

“I am one hundred percent with you on that.” He kissed her again, slowly, then sat up. “As much as I’d love to get side-tracked …”

“I know. We need to work on the letter.”

They went back to the table. “Alex’s handwriting is the worst,” Danny muttered.

“His punctuation is pretty bad too,” Patty said. “The whole thing is just a couple of long run-on sentences.”

“Wait, what?” Danny picked up the letter and scrutinized it again.

“Didn’t even capitalize the first word,” Martine continued.

“Shit, that’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“He didn’t capitalize the first words of the sentences, but he capitalized random words here and there. It’s hard to tell because the handwriting is so bad, but I think that’s deliberately exaggerated. I know the punctuation and capitalization errors are deliberate. Alex doesn’t make those mistakes.”

“I should have seen that right away,” Martine said, annoyed with herself. “Everybody always said what a great writer Alex was, how he got A’s on all his papers. He’d never make elementary mistakes in punctuation.”

“No, but he’s done it well. He’s used commas so it isn’t obvious when you first read it. Now, what does it mean?”

“He’s trying to call our attention to the capitalization and punctuation.”

She nodded. “Yeah, so look at what’s capitalized … _Chère, Martine, Rencontrer, Frère, Crépuscule, Cathédrale, Ville, Porte, Je, Vincent.”_

“Okay, look, _Rencontrer Frère_ is _meet brother…”_ Danny’s voice was excited.

“Yes! Ignore the opening and closing of the letter, and we’ve got _meet brother dusk cathedral city door.”_

“Fuck, what am I missing? What cathedral? What city?”

“And when? He can’t expect us to stand at a cathedral door every day at dusk, even if we know which cathedral he’s talking about.”

Danny shook his head. “There’s no cathedral within a hundred kilometers of here. We’re supposed to know what cathedral he means.”

“ _City._ He capitalized _City.”_

“Right … most Catholic churches and cathedrals are named for saints, like St. Joseph’s. He could easily have given us a name if that was it. What’s the closest cathedral?”

“Lyon, probably, or Clermont-Ferrand.”

Danny was tapping his phone. “The cathedral in Lyon is named for John the Baptist, and Clermont-Ferrand is Our Lady, so no, he would have identified them in some way.” He paced back and forth a few times. “Okay, in New York, the cathedral is St. Patrick’s, but in the capital, it’s just called the National Cathedral. Is there a cathedral anywhere within a reasonable distance that’s called the City Cathedral?”

She frowned. “Honestly, that sounds weird. It doesn’t sound either Catholic or European.”

“I know. Dammit, there’s something that Alex thinks we know that we either don’t know or don’t know we know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Okay, so when we first decided to try to get in touch with Cenzo’s brother, what information did we have?”

Danny started counting off on his fingers. “His name is Paolo. His daughter is Flavia. And, oh, shit, I’m an idiot, he lives in Milan.”

Martine threw her hands up in the air. “We know which city.” She grabbed Danny’s phone and started searching, then looked up triumphantly. “The cathedral of Milan is called exactly that. It’s the _Duomo di_ _Milano_ _._ It’s named for the city.”

“We should have seen that right away.”

“Yeah. We got too caught up in the puzzle-solving.” She picked up the letter again. “We’re supposed to meet Paolo at the door of the Milan Cathedral at dusk. So far, so good, but when?”

“December eighth,” Danny responded. “He’s not talking about a hundred and twenty-eight papers, he’s giving us the date, twelve-eight. It’s a Sunday, so there’s probably a vesper service.”

“That’s a week from tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“So we just wait at the door and …”

Danny nodded. “I think I wait for Paolo to find me. There’s a good chance that he’s been given a description. Cenzo’s not being watched the way known members of the Movement are, and obviously there’s been communication with Paolo to set this meeting up.”

“We’re both going,” Martine said. It wasn’t a question.

Danny’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 _“_ Danny, we’re in this together.”

“I’m not disputing that. Just … look, we shouldn’t both be in the same place at the same time if there’s any danger. It’s fine if we do meetings and training together around here, but a six-hour trip into another country is different. What if they’ve got our photos at the border?”

“Our photos from New York two years ago? They’d never recognize us from those.”

“Don’t be so sure. You know they have software that can alter pictures, change hair, add glasses and a beard, that sort of thing. They could have six versions of what we might look like. Let’s say worst case scenario, we get caught at the border, arrested, and extradited. Then what?”

She was obviously annoyed with him. “You know what. We go to jail. You know it’s very, very unlikely, but it’s a chance we take.”

“But it’s not a chance Gabriel takes.”

“Oh.” She suddenly understood what he was talking about. She put her hands up to her face. “Okay, okay.”

He held out his hand, and she took it. “What I’m saying is, for now, one of us has to stay here, and I want it to be you.”

“This isn’t some manifestation of the patriarchy forcing women and children to stay at home, is it?” she asked him with a faint smile.

“God, I hope not. I’m pretty sure Tim or John or Alex would have slapped that out of me.”

“More likely it would have been Angelica,” she sniffed.

“You’re right.” He pulled her a little closer. “Gabri’s still really little, not much more than a baby, and I think at that age, a mom is more important than a dad. I might be wrong, but for now, at least, he’s only got us. We can’t risk his losing both of us.”

She nodded, not liking it. “We’ll talk about this again.”

“Probably quite a lot. If we had more time, maybe we could figure out some guidelines, but I need to be in Milan in a week. There’s a lot to do.”

“Your birthday is this week,” she reminded him.

His arms tightened around her. “Let’s skip it for now. We’ll deal with it after I get back. I need to plan everything out, and I need to study.”

“Study?”

“I need to learn Italian.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”

*          *          *          *          *

He got to Milan a day ahead of time, registered in a generic hotel as Stefane Fabrice, a name that could have originated practically anywhere. His documentation said he was Swiss, and the car was registered in Lausanne. He hadn’t shaved all week, and then that morning had trimmed the stubble to a neat goatee and shaved his head, much to Martine’s distress. Even Gabriel eyed him suspiciously and patted his head cautiously. He’d added a pair of steel-rimmed glasses, and he looked like the serious graduate student he would claim to be if anyone asked. He was studying theology and was currently working on his thesis about how church architecture affected religious experience. He’d studied enough theology that he could talk about it with conviction, but as usual he was over-prepared.

“Better to learn too much than not enough,” he’d said to Blake when he met with him to discuss financing the Mission.

“I still think I should go with you,” Blake contended. “What if something goes wrong?”

Danny shrugged. “Then I leave.”

 _“_ Are you sure you can get out?”

“Pretty sure. I’ll take a bus to the cathedral, but if I need to get away fast, I’ll run. I’ve gone over the map a hundred times, and there’s no real street grid, just a labyrinth of little alleys. Some of them are for pedestrian traffic only, and there are stores and restaurants that I can duck into all over. I’ll have a backpack with a different color jacket, a baseball cap, and a disposable razor, and I’ll ditch the glasses. That’s all if I need to, which I probably won’t.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, I tend to over-prepare. Anyway, I’ll get back to the hotel on foot, get the car, and leave. Even if somebody is watching Paolo and recognizes me, they’d have no idea what name I was using.”

Blake took a breath and handed him a credit card in the name of Wren’s Window Decor. “It’s all very cloak-and-dagger.”

“Yeah.” Danny paused for a minute. “Listen, I fully expect to be back in a few days, but, you know, better to consider any eventuality. There’s a letter in a sealed envelope in the bottom right drawer of my desk. It’s between the pages of my Bible at First Corinthians 13.  If you need to, give it to Martine.”

Blake met his eyes. “I will.”

Danny had spent his first twelve hours in Milan walking around the area near the cathedral. He planned four possible routes out just in case. He ate in sidewalk cafes and made small talk in comprehensible Italian with waiters and store clerks. He wasn’t fluent, but he could ask directions and order a meal without difficulty. One waiter asked him casually, _“Sei francese?”_ and he replied, _“No, sono svizzero, da Losanna.”_

 _Apparently I have a French accent in Italian,_ he mused. _That’s good, actually._

A meeting at “dusk” was not precise, but the sun would set at around four-thirty in December, so at four o’clock, he made his way to the courtyard in front of the cathedral. It was enormous and had doors on all sides, but surely Alex had meant the main front door. There was nothing to do now but to loiter, taking pictures like all the other tourists, and wait for someone to approach him. He walked slowly all the way from one side of the cathedral front to the other, more than the length of a football field, and back again, pausing to look up at the elaborately carved façade. He lingered near it, taking pictures from various angles, then he stood back a little, looking up at the dozens of tall, thin spires, each one topped with a statue. He wondered who they all were, which saints were depicted, and breathed brief prayers to Saint Dismas and the Archangel Gabriel, just in case – not that it mattered. He didn’t pray to statues any more than he prayed to the angel picture back in Chavaniac. Holy images might be helpful reminders, but he knew where he was directing his prayers.

When he looked up again, there was a stocky gray-haired man a dozen or so feet away who caught his eye and smiled. He smiled back; it could be something or nothing, but there was no one else who seemed to be paying any attention to him, and it was past four-thirty now.

 _“Quanto è bello il Duomo,”_ he said. Any tourist would be likely to comment on the beauty of the cathedral.

The man smiled and took a few steps toward him. _“Sì,_ _tutti i milanesi sono fieri del nostro_ _Duomo.”_ Unsurprising that he would express pride in the city’s cathedral, but at least it continued the conversation.

That gave him an opening. _“Sei Milanese?”_

 _“Sì, tutta la vita. Ma tu non sei italiano?”_ So it was obvious to the man that he wasn’t Italian. Was he still just making conversation, or was he trying to verify something? Stay with the backstory.

_“No, svizzero, da Losanna.”_

The man smiled again. _“Hai un leggero accento, ma parli bene l'italiano.”_

That was polite, if untrue. He shook his head. _“Solo un po.”_

 _“Parli francese?”_ A logical question, since Lausanne was in the French-speaking part of Switzerland.

_“Sì, certo.”_

The man turned around as if looking for someone, and then called to a young woman who seemed to be talking with some friends. _”Flavia, vieni qui!_

Flavia. Danny’s heart beat a little faster, but there were surely lots of girls named Flavia in Italy. The girl turned around, her long, light-brown hair swinging over her shoulder, said something to her friends, and came to join them. Her father spoke to her quietly for a few minutes in very rapid Italian that Danny couldn’t follow, then introduced her. _“_ _Questa è mia figlia Flavia. Lei parla francese.”_

Danny switched gratefully to French. “My Italian is pretty basic,” he said, “but your father was being very nice to me.”

“Actually, my father said that your Italian was quite good. You’re Swiss?”

“Yes, this is my first visit to Milan.”

She smiled. “Do you like to travel?”

“Yes, generally, but it depends. There are places that I wouldn’t want to visit right now.”

She was listening carefully. “Yes, of course. Some places are very bad.” She turned and spoke to her father. He looked thoughtful and murmured something inaudible. Flavia turned back to Danny. “Have you ever been to New York?”

“Yes,” he replied evenly, “but not for quite a long time.”

“We hear bad things about New York,” Flavia went on. “My uncle is there, and Papà would like him to come back to Milan, but he won’t.”

How many girls named Flavia would have an uncle in New York? More than one, he reminded himself. “I wonder why he would want to stay in New York,” he said.

She hesitated. “It’s hard to say. Do you know anyone in New York?”

“I have some friends who used to live there, but they had to leave because conditions became very bad.”

She spoke to her father, then continued in Italian when she spoke to Danny. _“I tuoi amici s_ _i chiamano Giovanni e Alessandro?”_

Danny allowed himself a small smile. _“Sì, e il tuo zio si chiama Vincenzo?”_

Flavia let out a long breath and pushed her hair off her face. “Yes, and he makes great pizza, but I need to ask you one more question,” she said in French.

“All right.”

“When you were looking at the statues of the saints on the cathedral, which saint were you looking for?”

That was easy. “Dismas,” he told her. “The Good Thief.”

Flavia turned to her father, smiling. _“È lui,”_ she said. _“Sono sicura.”_

Flavia’s father held out his hand. _“Mi chiamo Paolo Donati.”_

Danny grinned. _“Io lo so. Sono Daniel.”_ He pronounced his name in French.

 _“Daniele,”_ Paolo echoed, giving it four syllables in Italian. _“P_ _iacere di conoscerti. Fa freddo. Vorresti un caffè?”_

 _“Sì, grazie.”_ Coffee sounded good. About a gallon of coffee. It had been a fairly stressful conversation.

The coffee shop was right around the corner.

 _“Ciao, belli!”_ the barista greeted them. He was around Paolo’s age, and he seemed to know them.

_“Ciao, Luca! Abbiamo freddo, tre caffè, per favore.”_

Paolo was right. With the sun already set, it was cold, and Danny had brought only a couple of lightweight jackets that would fit in his backpack. It was warm and comfortable inside the _caffetteria_ , though, and Luca soon brought a tray with three steaming cups of coffee and a platter with thick buttered slices of crusty Italian bread. Danny drank some coffee and took a slice of bread while Paolo and Flavia had a brief conversation.

“We had been told to look for a young couple,” Flavia explained, “and the description of you was not very precise.”

“She didn’t come with me,” Danny explained. “We have a baby, and we couldn’t be sure how things would go here. Maybe next time. As for the description, well, I’ve gotten accustomed to changing my appearance frequently.”

Flavia translated for Paolo, who nodded solemnly and responded in Italian. “My father wants to know if things in New York are as bad as we hear.”

“Probably worse. I doubt if President King lets accurate information out.”

“And you are interested in exporting some Italian goods to New York?” Flavia sounded puzzled.

“Not directly to New York. We’ll route them through a southern port, and we have an arrangement with a local merchant to distribute them. He’ll make quite a lot of money, and we will make enough to help our cause.”

“I see. The black market, then.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to know that if anyone asks.”

There was another rapid conversation in Italian, and then Flavia said, “Papà hears from Zio Cenzo about how brave the young fighters like your friends are, and he would like to help.”

Danny turned to Paolo. _“Grazie mille.”_

Paolo waved his hand as if to dismiss him and asked, _“Puoi restare fino a martedi?”_

Until Tuesday. _“Sì, certo.”_

_“Domani incontrerai i miei amici. Dove alloggi?”_

Danny gave him the name of his hotel, and they arranged an appointment for the next day at another coffee shop. Better to meet with Paolo’s friends in public for now, at least as much as possible. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen only a graduate student from Switzerland who had a brief conversation with a middle-aged man and his pretty daughter and then joined them for coffee. There was nothing that looked the least bit suspicious. Danny took the bus back to his hotel, missing Martine and Gabriel, missing the calm atmosphere of Chavaniac. _You’re spoiled,_ he told himself sternly. _Think about John and Alex. Think about little Katie Schuyler._

His prayers to Saint Dismas before he slept were especially heartfelt, and he was aware of the contradictions in his own mind. He wished he could be with John and Alex and the others, fighting side-by-side with them as he had before; at the same time, he was grateful beyond measure for Patty and Gabriel and his peaceful life with them.

*          *          *          *          *

 _“Claudio Neri,”_ Paolo said, introducing the young, alert-looking guy with unruly dark brown hair, _“e Sandro Baracchi.”_ Sandro could have been a professor. He wore glasses and had a neatly-trimmed goatee. He was probably in his thirties, but his hairline was starting to recede. Both of them smiled at Danny and shook hands, and then Claudio said in French, “We both speak French, if that helps.”

“That helps a lot,” Danny responded. “I felt sorry for Flavia yesterday having to translate everything. If it turns out that I’ll be here often, I’ll work on my Italian.”

“Your Italian’s really not that bad,” Flavia told him, smiling. “How long have you studied it?”

Danny shrugged. “I only had a week to get ready …”

She stared at him. “You learned it in a week?”

“No, not really, just some vocabulary and a few common verbs. The grammar’s not that different from French.”

“It took me four years to learn French, and even now I make mistakes.”

“I’ll keep studying Italian,” Danny said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Let’s talk about importing and exporting products. Claudio, what’s your specialty?”

“I sell leather goods, mostly purses, wallets, and gloves. We also have lines of shoes and jackets, but I think you will be looking mainly for smaller items that wouldn’t have to be fitted?”

“Exactly. For now, we’ll concentrate on the purses and wallets. I’ll take a small assortment of gloves, see how they do, and then we’ll work out quantities in the next order. Can you have, let’s say two hundred each of purses and wallets, fifty pairs of gloves ready in a month?”

Claudio nodded. “That’s a small order for us. Any preferences as to style or color?”

“I think for this order, as wide a variety as you can give us, and then we’ll see what sells best.”

“And you’ll give us a pick-up date?”

“As soon as I know it. We have a transport service that we work with, Transport Apollon. They’ll be picking up. We’ll give you passwords to identify them.”

Claudio’s eyebrows went up, and he smiled faintly. “Like in the movies?”

“Maybe a little.” Danny paused for a minute. “Before we go any further, I want to be sure you understand that what we're doing is illegal. We have contacts in the French government who support the Movement – the Résistance – in my country, and while I think the government of Italy is also sympathetic to our cause, I can’t get you out of trouble if there’s a problem.”

“I understand,” Claudio responded, unruffled. “Paolo’s brother has told him what is happening in New York.”

Sandro spoke for the first time. “My great-grandparents were here in the 1930’s. They were taken away to camps when my grandmother was just a little girl. Friends took her in and then moved to another town where they lied and claimed that she was their daughter. She survived, but her parents didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, feeling out of his depth for once.

Sandro shook his head. “It’s not for that that I tell you.” His French was not as fluent as Claudio’s or Flavia’s, and he chose his words carefully. “My grandmother survived, and grew up and married. She had three children, eight grandchildren, and now five great-grandchildren. That is sixteen people, including me, who would not exist if her parents’ friends had not saved my grandmother when she was four years old. How many more will there be in generations to come? That is why we have a saying that anyone who saves one life saves the whole world. I tell you this to let you know I understand. I will help you because I know your Résistance saves lives.”

Danny swallowed hard and found his voice. “That’s what we’re trying to do now. Some of our people don’t have enough food or blankets, and we need money to help them. That’s exactly where this money will go.”

Sandro broke into a smile that made him look years younger. “Then I will make sure I provide you with very nice jewelry. Also, I will give you a discount if you want to buy something nice for your wife.”

Danny laughed. “I wish I’d known that a couple of months ago. I bought her a necklace for her birthday.”

“Christmas is coming,” Sandro reminded him. He opened a small briefcase that he had with him, glancing around to see if anyone else was paying attention, but there were few other customers in the _caffetteria_ mid-morning, and it was perfectly normal for a businessman to show samples to prospective customers over coffee. “We have some very nice gold necklaces, earrings, and bracelets, and also some with precious stones.”

The glittering array was rather overwhelming, and a long discussion of wholesale prices followed. It was clear to Danny that Sandro would make little, if any, profit on the merchandise. After they worked out an inventory of items to be shipped to Charleston, Danny picked up a bracelet with alternating opals and diamonds set in it.

“Your wife’s birthday is in October?” Sandro asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t correct the assumption that Martine was his wife. In fact, he realized, he liked hearing her referred to that way.

“Do you think she would like that?”

“I think so.” He described the opal necklace he had given her for her birthday.

Sandro shook his head. “No, then. If her necklace has a single opal set in diamonds, this is the wrong style. They do not … what is the word … go?”

“Match,” Flavia supplied.

“Yes, they do not match.” Sandro rummaged in his case and took out a small oval box. He opened it for Danny. It held a solid gold bangle bracelet, with a single opal centered on it. There was a diamond on each side of the opal. “This matches better, no?”

“Yes, much better,” Danny agreed. “It looks like I’ve found my wife’s Christmas present.” _Why did I say that?_ he asked himself. _I could have just used her name._

Sandro quoted him a ridiculously low price, and he paid for the bracelet right away, slipping the box into his pocket.

 _My wife,_ he thought, as he took the bus back to the hotel a few hours later. On the six-hour drive to Chavaniac the next day, he struggled to keep his attention on the road. _Even in New York, I’m a legal adult now. There’s no reason why I can’t at least think about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Italian characters introduced in this chapter are fictional. My Italian is even worse than my Spanish, so if anyone catches any errors, please, please tell me so I can fix them.  
> Is Danny making a plan or just thinking about possibilities? I'm not sure myself yet.


	15. Manhattan in the Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of talk about "need to know," as Danny and Martine explain why Danny can't go with Blake to Charleston. Martine gives Danny his birthday present.

Danny had found that when he met with only Blake, Maggie, and Antoine, everything went better. He liked Aiden, and Suzanne and Louise were okay, but Roland got on his nerves, and when they were all together, it seemed that time was wasted with unnecessary squabbling, especially between Aiden and Roland.

“It was like that in Boston,” Martine told him. “John Adams always had to disagree with somebody, and Sybil and Sam were always trying to smooth things over. Even though everybody wanted the same thing and they were all committed to the Movement, they didn’t always get along.”

“That’s why Alex always wanted to work with Tony when there was a joint operation,” Danny said. “We don’t have many options here, but for now, it will just be the five of us in on this. We can brief everybody when we actually move the merchandise.”

It was easier for the others to come to Chavaniac than to meet elsewhere. Antoine’s cottage was actually on castle property; his family had been paying a nominal rent on it for the last few centuries. Blake and Maggie drove over for the evening and they met in the upstairs sitting room where they could hear Gabriel if he woke up.

They settled in with glasses of wine, Blake and Maggie on the couch, Antoine in one armchair and Martine on Danny’s lap in the other. “What can I say?” Danny shrugged. “Not enough seating, and she’s small, so there’s plenty of room.”

“Three could fit on the couch,” Maggie suggested helpfully. “Antoine …”

“Nah,” Danny interrupted, “we’re good.”

Maggie laughed. “I didn’t think it was a seating problem.”

Martine smiled, blushing a little, as Danny’s arm tightened around her. _We are good,_ she thought. _Whatever happens, this is good._

Danny took a sip of wine and reviewed what had been accomplished in Milan. “I think this new merchandise should be routed through Tom Wren and packaged as Wren’s Window Décor goods. No big items here, all small and easy to pack, but high mark-up.”

Blake nodded. “You should go with me to Portsmouth with the first shipment. You need to get acquainted with Tom anyway.”

“And then you’ll go with it to Charleston?”

“One of us will have to, so that we can go over everything with Frank.”

There was a brief silence, Martine looking up at Danny. “I can’t go,” he said finally.

“Okay.” Blake looked a little puzzled. “Do you mean you can’t go this time or is there more to it? You both look like there’s something you haven’t said.”

Danny huffed out a mirthless laugh. “So much for not revealing what’s on my mind.”

“It’s only us,” Maggie reminded him.

“Yeah. I can’t go ever – or at least not until King’s government is overthrown and free elections are held.” He paused as if he knew there was no guarantee that would happen. “That’s not entirely true either. It’s possible I’d have to go back under other circumstances.” He and Martine had talked this through at least a couple of times. He took her hand.

“Just go ahead,” she said. “Keep it to the five of us for now.” She looked at the other three. “Nobody else, okay?”

Blake nodded. “We get it.”

Danny hesitated for a minute, trying to find a starting place. “You know the story we told you back at the beginning, about Martine’s parents being opposed to our relationship and our running away so we could stay together and keep our baby?”

“Yeah, but we always figured that wasn’t the whole story,” Blake said.

Danny rubbed his forehead. “I’m trying to think if there was any part of it that was true.”

“It was true that I was pregnant,” Martine offered helpfully.

“Right, there is that. Also, my family, what there is of it, is poor, and we were classed as Deplos.”

“But so’s mine, so that wasn’t an issue.”

“So why were they opposed to your relationship?” Maggie asked.

“They weren’t,” Martine told her. “First of all, there’s no _they_ ; it’s just my mom, and she always liked Danny, so that wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“What do you mean ‘wouldn’t have been’? Who was against your relationship?”

“Nobody,” Danny said flatly. “That wasn’t an issue because we weren’t actually in a relationship.”

Maggie blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was engaged to someone else,” Martine explained. “Danny and I were friends, but that’s all.”

There was another awkward minute of silence, and then Maggie said, “Okay, go on.”

Danny began. “We had to leave the country for totally different reasons.” He looked down at his girl, knowing they were going to talk about things that would be painful for both of them. He pressed a kiss to her hair and then went on. “Martine’s fiancé was killed by King’s forces, and there was a warrant out for her arrest as a seditionist. Both her mother and her fiancé’s brother were picked up by the Greaters, but luckily she had been staying with friends, so they didn’t find her right away.”

“Angelica got me to Saint Dismas Church. Danny’s guardian was the pastor, and they hid me there.” She paused to give them time to work it out.

It was Antoine who spoke first. “So you’re a wanted criminal, not a girl running away from her parents.”

“Yeah.”

Antoine took a deep breath and settled back in his chair. “I can’t wait to hear the rest of it.”

“But you were both in the Movement, right?” Maggie asked.

Danny nodded. “That part is totally true. In fact, we were probably deeper in than we’ve let on. I mostly worked with John Laurens forging documents, but I did a lot of tech stuff too.”

“And shooting?” Blake queried.

“Yeah, quite a lot of shooting.”

“What did you do, Martine?” Maggie asked.

“I was a courier, going back and forth between New York and Boston or Philadelphia with documents or information.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It was. It’s what Nat, my fiancé, was doing when the Greaters arrested him and killed him.”

“Oh, my God,” Maggie murmured, clutching Blake’s hand.

“So at that point,” Blake said, “what was going on with the Movement? What kinds of things was he carrying?”

“There was a lot going on,” Danny responded. “Rioting in the streets, a lot of shootings. The Greaters would shoot somebody, then put out a false story about some poor Deplo who did it. People were being killed randomly, and we were fighting back.”

“Nat was just carrying information that time,” Martine said steadily. “Information about electronics and dark websites.”

“The Greaters are pretty stupid,” Danny continued. “They didn’t put together their fake story about Nat until after he was buried. Then they just randomly arrested anybody they could find who was connected to him – his parents, his brother, his best friend, Martine’s mother, the owner of the coffee shop where she worked. They let Betsy – she owned the coffee shop – and his parents go within a few days. Martine hid in the church until we forged a French passport and she flew here with friends of Gil’s. Alex got Ben Tallmadge to headquarters. Martine’s mom and Nat’s brother stayed in jail.”

“Are they still in jail?” Maggie asked.

Danny shook his head. “That’s part of my story. You know I came here much later than Martine, right?” He turned to her. “What can I tell them about Marty Middicks?”

Martine sighed. “Marty was kind of a mess. We all knew him, but nobody really liked him. He’d supported Blodman in the election, and then King after Blodman supposedly had a stroke. Then things started to get bad, and his girlfriend’s family lost their business. Marty realized, or at least said he realized, that he’d been wrong. He wanted to join the Movement.”

“We were suspicious of him, though,” Danny said. “Alex especially didn’t trust him and didn’t want to let him in, but we needed more people, so Marty was more or less on the fringes of things. Then I was out with Alex one day and we saw Marty talking to a Greater. Turned out he was an old high school classmate, and Marty didn’t have the sense to realize he couldn’t be friends with this Greater and be part of the Movement. Alex lost his temper, and I kind of got into a scuffle with Marty.”

“Scuffle?” Blake asked.

Danny shrugged. “Oh, you know, I yelled at him, he shoved me, I took him down and got my knee on his back. Nothing major.”

“Of course not,” Blake agreed drily.

“I only mention it because it turned out to be more important than it should have been. Anyway, Marty kept trying to prove that he really supported the Movement, and somebody finally convinced Alex to give him another chance. Alex set up a sort of test, gave Marty some information to see if it leaked. We were at the coffee shop, Betsy’s, Alex and John out front with Marty and his girlfriend Sylvia, Gil and me in the back room. What we were anticipating was that, if Marty had leaked information, some Greaters would come to search the premises. They’d done it before.”

“And is that what happened?” Maggie asked.

“No.” Danny hesitated and looked at Martine. She had her lip between her teeth, but she nodded for him to go ahead. “What happened was that somebody had planted a bomb. It blew up. Two people were killed, Betsy and a customer, a college girl. A lot of people were hurt. One of the employees was buried in the debris, and it took us hours to dig her out. Emergency services didn’t come. I had to stop digging, and John Laurens took over for me. Right after they got her out, a piece of stone fell on John and broke his leg. It was bad.”

Antoine leaned forward, frowning. “Why did you have to stop digging?”

Martine answered for him. “He caught his shoulder on a torn piece of heating duct. It was a serious injury. I’ve seen the scar.”

“And was Marty the one who had set the bomb?” Blake asked.

“No, he had nothing to do with it, and he helped that night, took another person to the hospital, stayed with him. At the time, though, we didn’t know for sure. He and Sylvia at least tried to show they were part of the Movement, but then we found out that he had talked about where we were meeting. He thought it was okay to talk to other Movement members, even though Alex had explained _need to know_ to him about a million times. It turned out that somebody we trusted was a traitor. Alex was completely done with Marty at that point.”

Blake nodded. “I can understand that. What about the traitor?”

Danny was silent for a minute, thinking about it. “Gil killed him. He isn’t really important in this story.”

“Okay. Maybe another time?”

Danny shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, we found out later that Marty was still desperate to prove his good intentions to Alex.” He stopped again, and rubbed his forehead as though he had a headache. “You know, Marty was never a bad guy. He was just so damn stupid; he never understood how serious we were, how serious the situation was. A while later, he made some sort of arrangements with his friend the Greater to get information to bring to Alex to impress him. It never occurred to poor dumb Marty that he shouldn’t have trusted his high school buddy.”

“What happened to him?” Maggie asked, pretty sure she knew the answer.

“They killed him,” Danny said, “but not before torturing him to get any information he had about the Movement. He didn’t really have anything to give them, so they just kept torturing him until he died. Eliza saw his body. She identified him.”

“Oh, God,” Maggie murmured, her hand over her mouth.

“The Director of Public Safety in New York was – probably still is – Joshua Loring. He’s truly evil. He said on TV that Marty had been killed by a rival faction in the Movement. He tried to paint us as a criminal gang.” Danny looked up and took a breath. “Then they used that incident of me fighting with Marty as evidence to arrest me for Marty’s murder.”

_“What?”_ Blake was shocked.

“Yeah, took me to jail and locked me up. It’s not an experience I’d want to repeat.”

“How did you get out?” Antoine asked.

Danny managed a faint smile. “What actually saved me is that Martine’s mother was in the same prison. I saw her one day, and I knew Tim – the pastor at Saint Dismas – was in communication with her. We managed to get a message to him through her, and then Alex and John led a raid on the prison and broke us out. Bonus, Nat’s brother Billy was there too, so he’s with the Movement now.”

Blake was frowning. “That’s why you can’t go to Charleston, then. According to the government, you’re an escaped murderer.”

“Yeah.”

“But …” Blake shook his head. “How many Movement members were involved in the raid?”

“Around ten, I think.”

“Including Alex Hamilton and John Laurens, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Who else?”

Danny knew where this inquiry was going, but if he was going to tell the story, he’d have to tell all of it. “Gil, Herc Mulligan, the two oldest Schuyler girls, Jacob Turck, and three from Philadelphia, Tony Wayne, Molly Hays, and Jack Sullivan.”

“That’s two squad leaders and pretty much anyone who could take over for them. You’re telling me the General okayed this Mission? Risked ten of his top people to rescue three, one of whom – sorry, Martine – couldn’t have been of any strategic value.”

“There’s a little more to it.”

Blake huffed out a laugh and settled back into his chair. “There would have to be.”

“You know things aren’t great with the Movement. We lost the Insurrection, and we don’t have the people or the resources to launch another one, at least not yet. The General says it will take between one and two years to build up the Movement to the point where they can take the offensive against King’s government. Even then, victory isn’t guaranteed. If a second insurrection fails, most of our leaders will be gone – dead, imprisoned, or incapacitated in other ways. The General wants somebody who could take over and train the next group of leaders, those who are probably young teenagers now. Somebody has to be in reserve in a safe place, and it has to be somebody who’s got the training and the ability to organize and lead the next Movement.”

Blake’s eyes met his steadily. “And that’s you.”

“Yeah.”

“Wait,” Antoine interrupted, “so you’re a sort of sleeper agent?”

Danny shrugged. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yeah, I guess.”

“That’s why you’re here, then,” Maggie said. “Not just because you’re a supposed escaped murderer hiding from the law, but because you’ll be the one to lead the whole Movement in the future.”

“I hope I won’t have to,” Danny admitted.

“A lot of things make more sense now,” Blake said. “Your Romeo and Juliet story always seemed a bit thin, at least for all the secrecy and cover stories you had. And you seemed to know way more about the inner workings of the Movement and how to direct things than any ordinary member would.”

Danny didn’t answer him. He felt strangely tired, as though he’d run a distance. He looked at Martine and finally let go of her hand, then put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. It was just a lot to think about it all again. How about you?”

“I’m all right.”

“What about you, Martine?” Maggie asked. “Are you a sleeper agent too?”

Martine smiled faintly. “Where Danny goes, I go, so, yeah, I am.”

“That’s another thing,” Blake broke in. “You said right at the outset that the two of you didn’t have a relationship, but obviously you do.”

“In New York, we didn’t have a relationship other than friendship, but when Danny arrived, the easiest way to explain him was to pretend that he was my boyfriend. After about a year, though, we realized we weren’t pretending.”

“That’s kind of sweet,” Maggie said.

“And Gabriel?” Blake asked.

Danny’s jaw tightened. “What about Gabriel?”

“It’s probably none of my business, but Martine was pregnant when she got here.”

“You’re right on both counts there.”

Blake had the good grace to flush. “Sorry.”

Martine spoke quickly before Danny could. “Gabriel’s ours. Danny’s his father, but he also had another father. We talk to him about his other papa who lives in heaven. He doesn’t understand much of that now, but we’re not going to hide anything from him. We’ll explain more as he gets older, but Danny’s name is on his birth certificate, and Danny’s raising him.”

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Blake said.

Danny took a breath. “It’s okay. Nat Hale – Gabriel’s biological father – was one of the best guys I’ve ever known. We don’t want to hide anything about him from Gabri, but for our ‘sleeper agent’ purposes, it’s better if everyone here continues to believe our story. I mean everyone, by the way. None of this information is to go any further than the five of us. I just needed you to understand clearly why I can’t go to Charleston. If I showed my face, I’d be arrested immediately. Murder’s a capital crime, and I’d be convicted in any trial under Loring.”

“Understood,” Blake responded. “You’re okay going to Portsmouth, though?”

“Yeah, I need to meet the people working with us in England. Martine stays here, though, at least for now. John and Abbie would recognize her, and they really don’t need to know she’s here.”

“They don’t know you?”

“No, I never met them. She was the courier, remember?”

Blake hesitated for a minute. “Do you not trust John and Abbie?”

“It’s not that, exactly,” Danny told him. “They just don’t need to know. _Need to know_ is a critically important rule of security. Marty broke it, and people died. He died. He thought it was okay to mention a meeting to other people who were in the Movement, but that started the chain of events that led to at least three deaths and could well have caused mine. I have no reason to think that John Adams and Abbie Smith aren’t one hundred percent devoted to the Movement, but they don’t need to know where Martine is. They don’t even need to know who I am. I don’t know if they’ve ever heard of me. Abbie knows Alex, of course, and most people in the Movement are aware of Lafayette and John Laurens, maybe the Schuyler sisters, but me? I was just another college kid who signed up.” That wasn’t true, of course, but there were still a few things that they didn’t need to know.

Blake nodded. “All right. As soon as we arrange the shipment, I’ll get in touch with Tom, and we can go to Portsmouth right after Christmas. If you’re lucky, I’ll even stand you a drink at the local.”

“I can’t wait,” Danny told him.

*          *          *          *          *

“I didn’t give you your birthday present yet,” Martine said after everyone had left.

He smiled. “There hasn’t been time. Anyway, you don’t need to get me presents.”

“Stop that right now,” she told him. “I’ll always give you a birthday present, no matter what. Right now, I can buy you something because Gil’s been so generous with us, but if the time comes when things don’t go well, I’ll still give you something, even if it’s a pretty rock or a wildflower, because I love you.”

He pulled her in, his throat tight. “I’m so lucky,” he murmured. “Don’t ever think I don’t know how lucky I am.”

“Sh.” She put her finger on his lips. “We’re lucky. I know it too.” She turned and opened the desk. Inside, there was a cube-shaped white box with a blue bow on it. She picked it up and handed it to him.

He almost dropped it, surprised by its weight. “Is this the rock you mentioned?” he asked.

“You have to open it and see.”

He sat down with the box on his knee and untied the bow. Tissue paper covered its contents, and when he pulled it away, his face lit up. “Patty, sweetheart, where did you find it?”

“The antique store in Le Puy.”

He lifted the heavy glass paperweight carefully out of the box. Its brilliant colors glittered in the lamplight as he turned it to see the design from all angles. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Do you know how old it is?”

“Monsieur Duval said it was made around 1850. It’s called a millefiori paperweight. That’s Italian for …”

“A thousand flowers,” he finished for her. “I was just studying Italian, remember.”

“I counted,” she said, pretending to be serious. “There aren’t actually a thousand.”

He nodded. “I kind of thought that the name was more symbolic than accurate.” He ran his hand over the flawless glass surface. When he looked up at her, his eyes were bright. “I never thought I’d own anything like this. How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I’d love an antique blown-glass paperweight? It’s not like the topic has ever come up.”

She gave a small shrug, looking at him steadily. “You like things that are real. No, that’s not quite the right word. Authentic. You’d rather have one genuine nineteenth-century paperweight than a truckload of reproductions, no matter how good they were.”

“You’re right, but how did you know?”

“I know you.”

He put the paperweight back in the box and set it carefully on the table, then put his hands on her shoulders. “You know me better than anyone ever has,” he said softly. “You understand me in a way I didn’t think anyone ever would.”

“Happy birthday, my love,” she whispered, and then she didn’t say anything for a long time because his mouth was on hers, and she melted into the kiss.

He picked her up as easily as he always did and carried her to their room.

When they had their clothes off, he pulled her hands over her head and held them there with his left hand around her wrists, not roughly, but firmly, so that she arched up toward him. Her eyes were huge and dark, and she had her bottom lip between her teeth, and _God_ , he wanted her. He put his forearm across her hips, holding her in place, and she squirmed against him. “Danny, please …” she whimpered.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear.

“Touch me.”

His hand slid between her legs, two fingers in, his thumb on her clit, and then he got his mouth on her breast at the same time, flicking her nipple with his tongue, sucking, and she moaned, pushing her hips up into his hand, trying to pull her arms away from his grip.

He took his mouth off her long enough to ask, “You want me to let go?”

“Mm-mm,” she murmured, “not yet.”

He moved his mouth to her other breast, scissored his fingers inside her, added a third and pushed up, and she made the most _gorgeous_ noises, whimpering and gasping and moaning as she twisted and writhed under him.

_“Now,”_ she hissed. “Let go now.” He did, and she brought her hands down to dig her nails into his back and pull him on top of her. “I want you inside me. Please, Danny.”

No matter how many times they did this, the moment of sliding into her always took his breath away. She was hot and wet and slippery, and she tightened around him, and there was simply nothing better in the world than the way it felt. She rolled her hips back so he could go deeper, and he did, deeper and harder, his thumb still circling her clit, until he heard her breathing change and felt the first flutter. He knew her so well now, and they were so attuned to each other that he knew when to move faster, and as she trembled and contracted around him, he let go, let her pull him as far in as she could, his body tight against hers, and he lost himself in her.

She fell asleep before he did, soft and warm, spooned against him. How could such a small body contain so much love, so much tenderness, so much understanding? He kissed her hair softly, not wanting to wake her, and prayed a silent prayer of gratitude to God and Saint Dismas and the Archangel Gabriel. They’d gotten him this far, and he trusted them to guide him forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has taken me SO long to update. Lots of real-life stuff going on that cuts into my writing time; it's going to be a busy summer, so thank you for your patience. Thanks too for kudos and comments. I always love hearing from you. <3  
> How will things go with Danny in England? Will he manage to get along with John Adams? And how successful will the latest black market endeavors be in Charleston?


	16. Tomcat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny travels with Blake to Portsmouth and meets Tom Wren, Abbie Smith, John Adams, and a new guy who needs a place to hide.

Christmas passed peacefully, at least as peacefully as possible with an active toddler in the house. Gabriel added several more items to his train set, which now took up a large part of the floor space in his playroom. Martine loved her opal bracelet, and she had returned to the antique store and found Danny an Art Déco set of brass desk accessories. The day after Christmas, he arranged them carefully on his desk and filled the real fountain pen with liquid ink.

“I feel like F. Scott Fitzgerald,” he said, signing his name on a piece of scrap paper.

Martine raised an eyebrow. “I read _The Great Gatsby_ in tenth grade. Didn’t he drink too much and die young?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” Danny admitted, “but that’s not what I was thinking of. I was thinking of writing the next great novel.”

“If you’re planning to do it with that pen, it’s going to take a really long time.”

“True.” He put the pen down. “Maybe I’ll use a computer.”

She put her hand on his. “You should do it,” she said. “Write a book about the Insurrection and the Movement.” She was serious.

“Maybe,” he told her. “Maybe, when it’s over and we have free elections again, I will.”

“Free elections,” she said, in the tone that people use to talk about winning the lottery or meeting the Pope. “I was so excited to vote last time.”

His mouth twisted. “At least you got to vote.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, genuinely surprised. “You’d think I wouldn’t forget.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I must be doing a good job, then,” he said lightly.

She put her arms around his waist and leaned her head on his chest. “They knew, you know, all of them … Alex and Gil and the General. They knew you’d be amazing. That’s why you’re here.”

There was a part of him that wanted to just stay here with his arms around this beautiful girl, or maybe even leave the castle, leave Chavaniac, and set up a new life. He knew enough about forging documents that they could easily disappear into the population of France. He could get a job as a history teacher, Gabriel could grow up in peace and safety. He’d allowed the thought to cross his mind a few times, but he knew he’d never actually do it. He pushed the image down and away from his consciousness, and thought instead about traveling to Portsmouth with Blake in a few more days. The trip would take a full day, driving into Normandy and then taking the ferry across the channel. The next day they’d brief Tom Wren on the import plans from Italy and set up the next trip to Charleston. Maybe he’d get a chance to meet Abbie Smith and John Adams. Maybe they’d have some news from the Movement.

His arms tightened around Martine. “I’ll vote in the next free elections,” he told her. “Just you wait.”

*          *          *          *          *

Danny was surprised to learn that Tom Wren, like Tim Dwight, was an ordained minister. Unlike Tim, though, he wasn’t the pastor of a church. Instead, he worked for a nonprofit organization that provided mentoring to children. His schedule was flexible and allowed him to run his “small business” on his own time.

Tom looked over the sample items they had brought and gave a low whistle. “If these sell, they’ll bring in a lot of money.”

“That’s the point,” Blake reminded him. “Frank swears Henry Laurens can move these things fast.”

“And the profit goes to the Movement.”

“Right,” Blake said, “and the merchants in Milan are sympathetic to the cause, so they’re giving us the best possible prices.”

Tom had a pair of brown leather gloves in his hands, running his fingers over their smooth surface. “I wouldn’t be able to afford these myself.”

“None of us would,” Danny told him, not entirely truthfully. “Henry Laurens will sell the goods to Haves at the highest price the market will bear. If he does a good job, he’ll make plenty of money for himself, but also a fair amount for us. I wish we could run this operation without making Henry Laurens even richer than he already is, but we can’t. It’s very strange to be grateful for his greed, but I am, because that’s what allows us to use him.”

Tom gave Danny an appraising look. “Did you know him? When you lived there, I mean.”

Danny hesitated and then shook his head. “No, but I knew of him. Apparently he’s a friend of President King’s.”

Tom’s eyebrows went up. “It’s going to be interesting when President King learns who his friend is doing business with.”

“He won’t learn that until he’s already on his way out,” Danny said. “Only a handful of us know, and none of us are talking about it.”

Tom put the gloves down reluctantly. “John and Abbie are coming over to have dinner with us. Do you plan to tell them?”

Danny exchanged looks with Blake, but made the decision himself. “No. I’ll give them the facts, but without names. At this point, they don’t need to know.”

Tom nodded, but moved on to a new subject. “Blake, didn’t you tell me that you were aware of a sort of safe house in Chavaniac where someone might be able to stay out of sight for a while?”

“I did,” Blake responded. “It’s an apartment, actually, fairly small, but quite well concealed.”

“So if someone has got himself crosswise with Prime Minister Guilford, he might be able to spend a little time away?”

“Someone on our side?” Danny asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. I haven’t met him myself, but John Adams knows him well. He’s willing to vouch for his political credentials, but says that he has been … how did he put it? ‘Indiscreet in his relationships’.”

“Interesting. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“None, unless he propositioned Guilford’s wife or something like that.”

“Oh, surely not,” Blake put in, horrified.

Tom threw up his hands. “Who knows? I didn’t pursue it because John Adams usually manages to see the worst side of everybody. We should ask Abbie.”

After lunch, Tom took them on a tour around Portsmouth to familiarize Danny with the area. While he wouldn’t be traveling to Charleston, there might be a time when he would have to coordinate shipments at this end. He kept a map open on his phone and made notes, which he would memorize and erase within twenty-four hours.

Tom had put together a decent roast dinner, and John and Abbie arrived on the dot of seven, as invited. Blake introduced Danny to them as Daniel Félice, and neither the name nor his face seemed to ring any bells. He observed them as closely as he could without being too obvious and soon saw what it was about John Adams that everyone found annoying. The man had no trace of a sense of humor. He rarely smiled. He didn’t seem to get any jokes, and his grim demeanor threw a sense of gloom over the evening.

After dinner, they adjourned to Tom’s small living room for drinks, and did their best to have a conversation. Adams didn’t contribute much, and he had the annoying habit of checking his phone about every five minutes, but at least, Danny thought, he’d known what to expect. Abbie looked a little nervous, but maybe that was because she knew nobody liked John. Blake gave John and Abbie a brief update on the new black market goods, without going into details about who would be handling what.

“So you’ve talked to someone in the Movement recently?” Adams asked sharply.

Blake nodded. “The expanded black market plan came from them.”

Adams thought it over. “Tom Jefferson or Frank Marion, probably. I’d say Hamilton, but I hear he’s holed up in the woods somewhere.”

Blake shrugged. “You know I can’t …”

“Right, right, right,” Adams interrupted, “Need to know.” He turned to Danny. “You came out of the New York squad, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Danny took a sip of his drink, his eyes on Adams’s face.

“What did you think of Alex Hamilton?”

Danny shrugged. “I can’t say I knew him well, but he’s probably the smartest guy I’ve ever met.”

Adams nodded, his face revealing nothing. Abbie put her hand gently on her boyfriend’s arm and asked Danny, “You knew Nat Hale, then, and Patty Manning?”

“Yeah, a little. I mean, we all knew each other, of course, but I hadn’t been involved in the Movement long when Nat was killed, and Patty disappeared.”

“Do you think Patty was arrested?” Abbie asked.

Danny shook his head. “There’s no way to know. I mean, there were rumors …”

“Like what?”

He chose a story that had actually gotten some traction when Patty vanished. “Well, she was good friends with Angelica Schuyler, so there was talk that the Schuyler family may have helped her out.”

Abbie met his gaze, and he saw the quick intelligence in her eyes. “Do you think that’s why Philip and Catherine Schuyler were killed?”

He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly, somehow keeping his voice normal. How had he never connected those dots? He knew the Greaters had gone to Albany and searched the house when Catherine and baby Katie were home alone. Two more deaths marked to the account of the traitor who’d leaked their names. He drank a little more of Tom Wren’s excellent Glenlivet single malt, wondering how he was able to keep his hand from shaking in anger. Maybe because anger was no use now. He’d seen the traitor’s head blown wide open by Gil’s bullet. _The past is past,_ said John Laurens. “I hope Patty’s okay, wherever she is,” he said to Abbie.

Abbie nodded, sympathy on her face. “She was so sweet. Did you know she was pregnant?”

Another swallow of the whiskey. “I’d heard.”

Abbie was talking of Patty in the past tense. It tore at his heart. Never mind. And he’d better slow down on the Scotch. He knew better.

John Adams’s phone chimed and he looked at the screen and sighed. “He’s here,” he announced.

“Tell him to give us fifteen minutes,” Blake said. He turned to Danny. “John and Abbie have a friend who may be interested in that apartment you’ve got available.”

Making sure that nobody else would know the apartment was actually hidden. “Who is it?” he asked.

“He’s originally from Boston,” John Adams said, “so I know him. He lives in Philadelphia now, though, or at least, he did.”

“Friend of Crazy Tony’s?” Danny asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“And he’s looking for a place to live in France?” Danny looked at Adams, hoping for a little more information.

“He’s been doing some work for the Résistance,” Abbie said. “He’s sort of … a communications expert.”

“Codes?”

“No, he’s much better at talking,” Adams commented drily.

“Or not,” Blake muttered. He looked inquiringly at John and Abbie. “I hear he may have talked to the wrong people, or talked to someone in the wrong way? Who decided he should disappear for a while?”

Even John Adams looked uncomfortable at the question. “It is my understanding that Prime Minister Guilford contacted the General,” he responded, not making eye contact with anyone.

“Oh, shit,” Danny said. He tried to imagine what kind of offense would trigger contact from a Head of State but came up blank. And why would the General keep someone like that in the Movement; even more, work to arrange a hiding place for him? “Why isn’t this guy just being tossed out?” he asked.

“He’s a very, very good negotiator,” Abbie responded, while Adams sat with his jaw clamped tight.

Danny hadn’t considered the possibility that a fugitive who needed to use their hidden apartment might be someone who had offended a high-ranking ally, maybe someone who’d be difficult to deal with. It sounded like the General felt he was valuable, though, so he’d do his best. “Okay,” he said. They’d figure it out.

There was a knock at the front door, and Tom let the newcomer in. Danny blinked when he saw him. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t this guy. He had shoulder-length light brown hair and bright hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His jeans were worn, but not ragged, and he had a plaid shirt and about half a dozen leather and bead bracelets. If it was still possible to call someone a hippie, he was one. Danny suspected he had a guitar in the duffle bag he was carrying. He looked around and sketched a wave, with a particularly warm smile for Abbie. Adams snorted and glared at him, but he seemed oblivious.

It was Abbie who made the introductions. “Tom Wren, who lives here, and works with our transportation and shipping, Blake Percy, who’s also involved with that, and Daniel Félice, who’s just getting started with us. He lives in France, in Auvergne. All of you, this is Benjie Franklin.”

 _Benjie_ might have been a childish name for a guy who had to be near thirty, but it seemed to suit him. He shook hands with each of them, and spoke to Danny in flawless French. _“Enchanté. Vous êtes français?”_

Danny shook his head. _“Non, d’origine New Yorkaise, mais j’habite en Auvergne depuis quelques années.”_

Benjie tilted his head and held eye contact. _“Pourquoi?”_

Danny shrugged. _“Il y a des raisons.”_

 _“Sûrement.”_ Benjie seemed amused. Did he think he was going to figure out the reasons? Danny smiled back. _All right, then. Challenge accepted._

“Danny has an apartment available,” Blake said. “In the same building where he lives.”

“How nice.” Benjie’s eyes had been on Danny’s face, and now he swept them down and then all the way back up, smiling appreciatively. “And do you live alone?”

 _Oh, so that’s how it is?_ “No,” Danny responded, “with my girlfriend and our son.” He wanted to be very sure that the lines were clearly drawn.

“Is she pretty?” Benjie asked.

Abbie had had enough. “Shut up, Benjie. God, no wonder you pissed Guilford off. You’re lucky you’re not going back to Philadelphia to starve with everybody else.”

Benjie looked at her over his shoulder and batted his eyelashes. “I’d never starve, Abbie.”

 _Well,_ Danny thought, _this is going to be interesting._

*          *          *          *          *

The ten-hour trip back to Chavaniac went better than he had hoped, with Benjie spending most of his time reading, and the rest of it asking mostly reasonable questions. Danny texted Martine while Blake drove, giving her only the minimum information: _bringing someone with me who might be interested in renting the apartment. Tell Julien._ That was enough. She’d know it was someone connected with the Movement, and anything else could be discussed when they got there. He had a feeling that they’d need to come up with something to keep Benjie occupied, even if they had to invent a project.

It was dark when Blake pulled into the circular driveway, but there was enough moonlight that the outline of the chateau was clear. Benjie’s eyes widened in delight. “It’s a fucking castle,” he said. “You didn’t tell me you lived in a fucking castle.”

“It’s not mine,” Danny told him. “It belongs to a friend.” He was going to stick to the original cover story for Benjie. It seemed that the General thought highly of him, but Danny wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him at this point. Blake left and Benjie dragged his battered duffle bag over the threshold, grinning at the wooden beams in the front hall and the crossed swords over the fireplace. He seemed disappointed when Danny turned on the lights.

“There should be flaming torches stuck in iron holders on the wall,” he declared.

“Yeah, well, Monoprix was out of torches this week,” Danny told him. “I hope you’re not disappointed that we’ve got electricity and running water.”

“Oh, I suppose not, but it does diminish the castle atmosphere.” He looked up as he heard footsteps on the stairs. It was Martine coming down to greet them, smiling at Danny. “Well,” Benjie said brightly, “and whose little girl are you?”

“Danny’s,” she told him without any hesitation, not bothering to look at him. Danny met her at the foot of the stairs and took his time kissing her hello, mostly because he’d missed her but also because he wanted to laugh out loud at her perfect response to Benjie’s attempt at flirting. He kept his arm around her as he introduced her to their new boarder. “My girlfriend, Martine,” he said as she held out her hand politely.

Of course Benjie bent and kissed it theatrically, then looked up hopefully. Martine was smiling at him indulgently, the way she might at an elderly uncle. Benjie stood up straight and gave her a suspicious look. That wasn’t the reaction he usually provoked.

“Let’s go upstairs so you can see the apartment,” Martine proposed. “Please be quiet because I’ve just gotten Gabriel to sleep.”

“Gabriel is your son?” Benjie asked with interest, doing his best to cut Danny out of the conversation by stepping in front of him as they went up the stairs. “How old is he?”

“Nineteen months,” she responded and turned to address Danny as they reached the landing. Two could play this game. “He said _turtle_ today.”

Danny grinned. “Did he? English or French?”

“French, of course, but then we went over it in English too. We were looking at his zoo book.”

Benjie appeared to accept his defeat, at least for the moment. He examined the paintings on the stone walls of the second floor corridor while Martine accompanied Danny to Gabriel’s room so he could kiss him good night. As they leaned over the crib, Martine whispered urgently, “Where in the name of all that’s holy did you find _him?_ ”

“Sorry,” Danny whispered back. “John and Abbie handed him over. I think he’s important.”

Martine rolled her eyes. “I _will_ slap him if he goes one step further, you know.”

“I have no doubt at all.” Danny tried to keep his face serious as Martine glared at him, but it was too much, and in a few seconds, they were both trying to muffle their laughter. “If it’s any consolation, I think he likes girls and boys both, so I may have to do my share of slapping too.”

“Oh, God. Are you sure he’s on our side?”

“Yeah, I am. Let’s get him settled, and we can talk later.”

Benjie had finished looking at paintings and was taking books off the shelf in the sitting room and paging through them.

“There’s nothing sweeter than the face of a sleeping child,” Danny said piously as they walked in.

Benjie smiled vaguely and put _David Copperfield_ back on the shelf.

“Do you have any children, Benjie?” Martine asked pleasantly, doing her best.

Benjie picked up _l’Assomoir_ and checked the back of the title page. “Mm, two, I think,” he said, then looked at Danny. “First edition?”

“Yeah,” Danny responded, “but not first printing.”

Benjie nodded approvingly. “Still …”

He turned away to put the book back, and Martine shot Danny a bewildered glance. He shrugged and shook his head. “I’ll show you the apartment,” he said to Benjie. He put his hand on the statue of Don Quixote on the top shelf and gave it a twist, and was pleased to see Benjie’s eyes widen when the bookcase pivoted, revealing the hidden entry.

“Well, fuck me,” Benjie muttered, more to himself than to them, as he stared into the dark hallway. He turned back with a grin that revealed how charming he might be when he put his mind to it. “This will be fun.”

*          *          *          *          *

It was more than an hour later when Danny and Martine were finally in bed in their own room, and Martine had been threatening for the last ten minutes to kill Tom Wren, Abbie, John Adams, and anybody else responsible for landing them with Benjie, up to and including the General himself. Danny had his arms around her, laughing into her shoulder and telling her that he would love her even if she committed homicide. “I think it would be better if you don’t actually do it, though,” he said.

“How about if I just kill Benjie? He thinks he has two kids? He _thinks?_ Like, did he forget to take inventory? Oh, my God, what is the matter with him? And why are we hiding him?”

Danny was still laughing. He pulled her as close to him as he could. “Can I just say that I adore you?”

She stopped talking and looked into his eyes, then put her hand on the back of his neck and kissed him thoroughly. “Yes, and thank you for being sane. And I love you too, so much.” She kissed him again. “You don’t know why we’ve got him, do you?”

“Nope.”

“We don’t need to know?”

“Exactly.”

She kissed his jaw, the tip of her tongue just touching his skin, and he let out a breath. “Can we block the door to the apartment and lock him in?” she asked softly, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Mm-mm,” Danny responded, turning just a little to meet her mouth, “but all the walls are solid stone and a foot thick.” He pulled on the opening of her tee shirt to bare her collarbone and scraped his teeth along it, feeling the shudder go through her. “We don’t have to be quiet or anything.”

She sat up halfway, yanked the shirt over her head, and threw it on the floor, following it with her pants. Even so, Danny had his clothes off first and pulled her under him, rubbing against her.

“So I can make as much noise as I want?” she asked, opening her legs for him. The truth was, she’d never felt constrained to be quiet when they made love. The walls were impervious to sound, and Gabri’s baby monitor only went one way. Besides, Danny loved it when she made noise.

“Yeah,” he said now, his mouth on her throat, “I want to hear everything. Anyway,” he added, licking her nipple and then blowing on it, “you couldn’t be quiet if you tried.”

“What?”

“Well …” he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked on it, expecting the satisfied whimper that he usually heard, but there was silence. After a minute, he lifted his head and looked at her questioningly. “What?”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “I believe you just issued a challenge.”

“Oh, really?”

“You said I couldn’t be quiet.”

“Mm-hmm.” His hand trailed down her sternum, over her belly and came to rest between her legs, his palm against her. She inhaled sharply and took her lip between her teeth. He began to circle his hand gently, applying just a little pressure, watching her eyes. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “I’ll win.”

She ran her nails along his hip. “Maybe,” she whispered back, “but I won’t lose.”

*          *          *          *          *

Benjie didn’t turn up for breakfast. Josette shrugged and said she would make coffee or tea if he wanted it, and there was always bread in the kitchen. It was sunny outside and warm for mid-January, so Martine took Gabriel with her to run errands in the village, and Danny went upstairs to work on the shipping documents for the cargo of Italian leather goods and jewelry. They were all being shipped as window décor and curtain hardware, and he had to make sure the sizes and weights of the containers matched those of the actual goods to avoid suspicion. He was cross-checking files when the bookcase pivoted open and Benjie stepped into the room.

“Good morning,” he said, pushing the bookcase back into its usual position. “Who designed that?”

“We had a pivot door like it in the back of a coffee shop in New York. It hid a room that we met in. One of the guys in the New York squad drew up the plan, and a few of us worked on it. This one’s a little fancier because of the switch. The other one just had a latch.”

“The switch is electric, right?”

“Yeah.”

Benjie gave him a smile. “I like mechanical things.”

“Okay.”

“What are you working on?”

Abbie had told them that Benjie was cleared for everything, but Danny didn’t see any reason why he would need to know about the black market plan. “Paperwork,” he replied briefly.

“Is it for the Movement or something else?”

Danny closed his file. “You don’t need to know, Benjie.”

Benjie tilted his head and narrowed his eyes a little, contemplating Danny as if there was something strange about him. “Hardly anyone ever says that to me,” he said, not angry, but maybe surprised.

Danny shrugged. “Not trying to make you feel bad or anything, but unless you actually can show me that you need to know something, I won’t be sharing information with you even if you’re cleared.”

“Do you know who the fuck I am?”

 _Is he trying to intimidate me?_ “Yeah, I do, but, still the same answer.”

“The General himself arranged for me to go into hiding because he wants to keep me safe.”

 _Me too,_ Danny thought. “Well, that’s great and all, but same answer.”

Benjie broke into his uniquely charming grin. “Ben Tallmadge was right.”

“About what?”

“About you. I told him I was the only one in the Movement smarter than Alex Hamilton, and he said no, there’s this kid that we sent over to France …”

“So you knew I wouldn’t give you any information on the paperwork.”

“Well, not if Tallmadge was correct.”

“Okay, then, but I wouldn’t underestimate Alex Hamilton.”

Benjie nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, how can I get some breakfast?”

Danny glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ll take you to the kitchen, but Josette is fixing lunch now, so you’ll be on your own.”

“Is there coffee?” Benjie asked plaintively as they walked out of the room.

“Probably not, but I’ll show you where everything is so you can make it.”

Benjie sighed. “Thank God kitchen supplies aren’t on a need to know basis.” He shot Danny a sideways glance under his lashes, waiting for a smile.

Danny gave him a raised eyebrow instead. “Right.”

Benjie’s bottom lip came out just the tiniest bit. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Of course not,” Danny told him evenly. _Was all this a test of some sort or was Benjie really just an asshole?_

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend this morning?”

Danny turned toward him and gave him the smile he'd been waiting for. “You don’t need to know that either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monoprix is the French equivalent of Walmart or Target, in case you were wondering. They probably don’t really sell torches.   
> Thomas Wren was a Presbyterian minister, a British subject who sympathized with the colonists during the American Revolution. Benjamin Franklin was probably not a bisexual hippie, but he certainly knew his way around a bedroom. I've put two quotes in his mouth, one from a Broadway show (not Hamilton), and one from a song that Lin wrote. Big shout-out to anyone who tells me what they are and where they're from.  
> How much trouble is Benjie going to cause?  
> Sorry for the long wait for an update, and thanks to everyone who left kudos or comments. I love hearing from you, and comments make me write faster. <3


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